The Commodore's Wife: Alternate
by lafemmedisparu
Summary: A little place for my extra content and side stories featuring characters from Catch Her if You Can/The Commodore's Wife, including deleted scenes and alternate universes. Also will include some modern installments for my own amusement.
1. Farewell

**Author's Notes:** _Bless me. I need to take a stadium of seats._

 _I didn't want to mess up the stream of the regular TCW with this, but I felt the side stories growing in my head until I could not contain them, starting with this one. Just giving myself an opportunity to write some scenes that have been stuck in my head within this world._

 _I think I might do a **#modern** chapter! What do you all think about that? *Charlie Murphy shake*_

* * *

 _ **#farewell** takes place during Mother/Mourning. Or technically before? It intrigued me to entertain the idea of what "ensued behind the door" when Jess and James met briefly before he leaves. No, I cannot write smut/citrus very well. However, I don't think it's really supposed to be "smutty" as much as it is "holy quickie, batman!" But I feel it ends on a sad note that may be discordant? I don't know. Let me know!_

 _Sorry kids, this is definitely rated M. And I have a feeling it won't be the last. (Even if I suck at it.)_

* * *

 _._

 _._

 _Loving you madly will be forever._  
 _I see the ocean in your eyes when we're together._  
 _There are no boundaries. There are no limits._  
 _My heart has been embraced now that you're in it._

 _\- Melanie Chisholm, "Closer"_

 _._

 _._

* * *

 _The Commodore's Wife: Alternate_

 **#farewell**

She stared at the door, willing herself not to shake. Before she could talk herself out of it, she reached out for the lock and turned it. The resounding _click_ caused her heartbeat to spike, but an easy breath outward quelled the rhythm. When she turned to face him, her expression in its smooth lines emanated calm, serenity. The only thing that betrayed her were her eyes.

She walked toward the desk. With one hand she tugged on the pins that kept her hair in its efficient twist. Her dark hair fell free in a wavy cascade down her back and she felt emboldened by the weight of the strands on her spine. She placed the pins on the desktop, very close to his left hand. She marveled at the elegance of his fingers, wondering if this would be the last time she would feel them on her skin. Forcing herself to look into his face she pushed aside any misgivings.

"How long do we have?"

His voice came out softly. "Enough."

That was all the prompting she needed. She was careful not to tear any of his buttons, understanding the importance of perfection in his outward appearance. The waistcoat and jacket went first, thrown across his chair behind the desk. Having divested him of the major obstacles in the way, she unfastened his breeches and the sharp intake of breath when her fingertips met his flesh spurred her forward.

The taste of him never failed to tantalize her. Dizzy with want, she sucked and bit, eliciting strangled moans as she branded him from the inside of his left thigh to his left nipple. The onslaught left him weak and throbbing with the lack of release, and his grip on the edge of his desk was so rigid the bones threatened to rip their way out of his skin. When he could no longer focus to hold himself, his knees buckled, and the duo tumbled to the floor.

He pushed her onto her back and pressed his mouth to hers. He shoved her skirts up to her hips and dragged her against him. His nails razed her skin, leaving crimson in their wake. They both moaned when he sank into her wet heat, and with ragged breaths and heart galloping he pounded in and out of her with an intensity that felt foreign, and yet, he found himself too entrenched to stop. She prevented herself from crying out by sinking her teeth into his shoulder. She felt him shudder as pain and pleasure mingled.

He pinned his wrist above her head and attacked her mouth; her legs trembled as the pleasure built, threatening to explode. She wanted to prolong the moment but she had the heavy sense of time pressing down on them. His hand sought out her breast and when he found the soft warmth he shuddered again. Overcome with passion, she gripped his right buttock and met his thrusts with equal enthusiasm. His mouth left hers before the growl that threatened to escape could cross his lips and moments before they both reached completion he left on her a mark of his own.

They lay motionless in the aftermath. The fierce, blinding and desperate passion had been spent, leaving them weary, slightly cold, and dreading what was coming next. He sat up first, pulling up his breeches. She followed suit, leaning against the front of his desk and pulling down her skirts. Hating the space between them, she moved closer until their shoulders touched. He placed a hand on hers in response and squeezed.

"I'm sorry," she said, almost in a whisper.

He frowned. Of all of the things she could have uttered, he had not been expecting an apology. "Why?"

"I got carried away."

He brushed a lock of her hair out of her eyes. "Considering the circumstances, you have my forgiveness." He lifted her chin and placed a long, languid kiss on her lips. He broke away and placed his forehead against hers for a couple of minutes before pushing himself to his feet. He held out a hand to help her onto her feet. She stared up at him for a humming moment before accepting his hand and allowing herself to be boosted upward.

As he tucked his shirt into his breeches she retrieved his waistcoat and jacket. Working in tandem, she assisted in redressing him, and when they were finished, he appeared as polished as when she entered. She began to adjust herself and he picked up her hairpin. He stared at her quietly, memorizing the slightly tousled hair and the faint blush of her skin. She retrieved the other pin to fashion her hair into its former style when he stopped her.

"Leave it," he murmured. She stared at him quizzically. "You have a mark right there." He brushed the side of her neck with a fingertip. A spot the size of a coin blazed a livid crimson. She reached up abruptly and pulled her hair over it to fight off the involuntary shudder at the remembrance of _that_ moment—

"Is that satisfactory?" Her voice was stiffer than she intended.

He looked at her but did not respond to her question. After a moment, he nodded.

"Thank you." More silence ensued. The sounds from outside filled the space, reminding them what had to be done. She took a step forward and reached out to touch his coat. It was softer than it appeared, she mused. Another part of her, the rational part of her realized this was evasion, so she removed her hand and looked up at him. She suddenly grew tired of tiptoeing around what she wanted to say. "I am aware enough of how these things go to tell you that I really, really don't want to cling to the fear that you won't come home. So I will make the effort not to be—only if you do one thing for me." She raised her hands and cupped his face. She waited until he looked at her steadily. "You come home, James Norrington. Or I will go down to the Locker and drag you home myself."

 _Rash, too rash, darling._ He had bound himself to this woman, and sometimes he wondered about his own sanity in doing so, but at this moment, with the shouts coming from outside and her staring up at him with that intense, determined gaze, he decided he would have no other person at his side.

"I believe Davy Jones would be ill-prepared for the likes of Captain Jay," he quipped. "So I'll save you the trouble."

She smirked at that. It went straight to his heart. "Good," she merely said, and then stepped up to kiss him. The kiss whispered of possession. _You're mine. Don't forget._

 _Oh no_ —he wouldn't forget. The constellation of marks she had left on his body would remind him until time faded them. He hoped at that point he would be home again.

At the knock at the door, she settled onto her feet and smoothed out her skirt. She squared her shoulders and attempted to appear polished and serene. He didn't have the heart to tell her that her loosely flowing hair and bruised lips betrayed any sense of decorum she attempted to feign.

"Come in," he called out.

The gentleman at the door had been a herald: _it was time to depart_. He thanked the messenger, and they were left alone again. She could sense his reluctance to move, so she uttered the thing most fitting: "We should go."

He gave a resolute nod. "Indeed, Captain." He strode toward the door, and she followed, her steps slower. He opened the door and allowed her to go in front of him. She nipped his chin spontaneously and drifted past. His lips quirked but he didn't smile.

The man with whom she had hastily and fervently coupled had been replaced by the Commodore. She could see when his spirit entered the scene; her husband's spine stiffened, his shoulders squared. His face had settled into stoic lines, and even his eyes had gone carefully blank. She walked beside him, chin lifted and eyes just as empty.

Their walk together ended on the dock, at the gangplank leading to the _Dauntless_. They hovered near it and out of everyone's way. The wind picked up as they hesitated, blowing her hair back. Her neck and its telling imperfection were revealed. This time, however, he didn't bother to mask the mark. He decided the last image of her windblown hair, proud eyes and slightly inclined head would serve him well during the next several nights.

She flicked a glance at the small group of men looking at them expectantly, and then she said, "Godspeed, Commodore."

Where had she gotten it? Who had taught her this terrifying strength? He said nothing, merely squeezed her hand briefly before striding up the gangplank. He battled back his emotions and faced his duty, tucking everything away like a secret indulgence.

However, he couldn't help looking back, as they moved over the water, just briefly.

She grew smaller with every passing minute, but he could still discern her out of the others milling around on the dock. As if she could feel his stare, she placed a hand on her heart. It seemed much more profound than the frivolity of blowing a kiss. _My heart is yours._ He would make sure he wouldn't break it.

Even though he threw himself into his rank, his work, he moved with the knowledge in a corner of his mind she lingered there until he was out of sight.


	2. Exit

**Author's Notes:** _*in announcer voice* And here's...Nicolette!_

 _I realized she disappears sort of abruptly between "Sparrow" and "Mother/Mourning" so I wanted to give a bit of clarification. This sort of sets up her chapter that will come toward the end of TCW. Like I said in the AN for Groves/Gillette, if you're getting the feeling that something is up with Nicollette, you're not wrong._

* * *

 _ **#exit** is written entirely in Nicollette's point of view._

* * *

 _._

 _._

 _How ever do you need me?_  
 _Back to life, back to the day we have_  
 _Let's end this foolish game_  
 _Hear me out, don't let it waste away_  
 _Make up your mind so I know where I stand_

 _\- Soul II Soul, "Back to Life (However Do You Want Me)"_

 _._

 _._

* * *

 _The Commodore's Wife: Alternate_

 **#exit**

There is something about watching them wait for news to come that both saddens and amuses me. They alternate between talking the other out of going after the group and cleaning up the mess our friends left in their wake. The rhythm of their movements is akin to an old rerun of _I Love Lucy_ , and Lucy and Ethel are plotting how to sneak onto Ricky's vessel without being noticed. I guess since Claud's still single (hey, would _you_ blame her coming off His Scaliness Lord Oscar Meyer the Wiener (Cutler Beckett for the uninitiated) and being wary to partake in the dating swerve? Just saying) Elizabeth can be Lucy to Claudia's Ethel. Will could totally pull off the whole Lizzie-you-have-some-'splainin'-to-do bit. _In fact_ if he slicked back his hair and got a nice suit…

 _No. **No.**_ _Down_ , girl. _**Focus.**_ Here is a looking glass and a map—you are _**here**_. And you can't be "here" anymore.

I inwardly roll my eyes at my conscience. Ruining my fun. Bollocks to that. But as much as it pains me to admit it, she _is_ right. Even when she's being uptight.

I sit in Claudia's armchair, taking in the room as if I will never see it again. Being placed in a time not very pleasant for someone of my hue has been humbling (and mortifying too; I'm telling you, if I were stuck here forever I would get in trouble because certain kinds of people don't take too kindly to a young mocha skinned woman with my demeanor, and there is only so much my friends can do), and I have seen many beautiful and awful things during my visit, but I cannot overstay. I refuse to be a catalyst for some catastrophic event because I found some way to make kettle corn popcorn. It's enough I slipped and told Cynthia about spandex and purple dye. (She swooned by the way. If you wondered.)

"Nic?" I look up, attempting to put on my cool-but-quirky traveler expression. I modeled it after the Tenth Doctor. _Thanks, Tenners._ Elizabeth notices the change and frowns fractionally. "Are you all right?"

Am I all right? Hm. A very good question. One that I cannot answer honestly. So I lie. "Yeah, girl," I respond, with a wave of my hand in dismissal. "I just..."

On the other side of the room, Claudia sets one half of her decimated coffee table against the wall with a thud. She has spent enough time with me that, despite my shielding, she can sense my moods as I can sense hers. She drifts over, and I keep my gaze on Elizabeth's inquisitive face. If I look at Claud, I'll break.

"Nicollette Smith, how dare you tell such a blatant lie?" Damn it all. She figures it out anyway. I purse my lips together and glare at her. She tilts her head expectantly in a way that reminds me of Jess. I look away as a pang stabs my heart. I would miss her. I would miss them all.

Above my head, Elizabeth shares a look with Claudia, then lowers herself to the arm of the chair. See, if I'd have done that, I would have toppled the damn thing over. The Curse of having thunder thighs. "Nic, was there a reason why you decided to stay here with us?"

Oh there were a whole plethora of reasons. But I understand what she means; there is one reason that overshadows the others. Making a decision, I finally say, "Yes, there is a reason." I finally hazard a look at Claudia. "I have to go."

I am not going to deny that Claudia's face falling before my eyes doesn't affect me. Elizabeth blinks at me, then looks at Claudia. After taking in Claudia's morose expression, she shifts back toward me. "Nicollette, why now?"

Looking away, I shake my head. "It's time I go back to where I came from," I mumble. I rise to my feet, suddenly tired. I long for my favorite pillow. I wonder if it still exists. I walk a few steps forward then turn. Elizabeth rises and stands next to Claudia. They both look at me sadly.

"Will we see you ever again?" Elizabeth asks.

My eyes drop again. Well-versed in the art of Nicollette Smith, Claudia answers the question for me. "If we see her again, it means something is wrong."

"Damn, Claudia, thanks for ruining the element of surprise," I joke, but it falls flat. Elizabeth appears stricken, as if we have imparted some horrible truth. And I don't blame her; my existence suddenly is not some amusing quirk but instead a grave indication of doom.

"So...what was wrong this time?" Elizabeth wants to know.

I put a finger over my lips briefly. "It's a secret," I say in a stage whisper. Elizabeth looks crestfallen. _Aw, what the hell?_ Why not one _tiny_ morsel? "But I'll give you a hint: what's tall, dark-haired, green-eyed, and now gets laid on a daily basis?"

I wish I had a camera to capture the comedic way Elizabeth's mouth drops open and then as mind connects the dots her cheeks redden.

Claudia gives a long-suffering sigh to which I am long used and shakes her head. That is a more welcome sight than her melancholy. "I really did _not_ need to be privy to that information."

"Hey, trust me, it's a _major_ upgrade," I remind her. "But do me a favor, though? Tell ol' JN he better not fuck it up. I know how to pick locks and I _will_ bust his kneecaps."

"You wouldn't actually...hurt the Commodore would you?" Elizabeth finds her voice.

I cackle so hard at this that after a while Elizabeth joins in reluctantly. Who _me_? Hurt that adorably awkward fellow? Nah, I am mostly kidding about the _bust his kneecaps_ thing. Mostly. I figure the main threat is not in the physical harm but that I would actually make an appearance. Jazzy Jeff has _nothing_ on me, ladies and gentlemen.

 _Yes, my work here is done._

"Will it take long?" Elizabeth asks. She seems to have a lot of questions. I suppose I cannot be completely surprised that Claudia is being standoffish. She has been through this whole process before when I left the first time. If nothing else, I learned when I left after Jessica's pardon that Claudia considers me a friend. She forgot (even though I warned her) that someday I would have to leave them. That is the funny thing when you spend a great deal of time with someone; they become part of the tapestry of your being, and when they disappear, it leaves threads dangling.

Despite my intentions, the mark I left upon these people (the Commodore and the Captain, the Thomas sisters and Sam, Cyn, _maybe_ Groves and Gillette (we still have some issues to work through, but oh well, too late now), and Elizabeth and Will) is more than cursory. I intended to exist here and be forgotten.

"Nah," I finally say. "It's quick. It's just...private." She nods, understanding the underlying meaning. No one is supposed to see.

After a moment, Elizabeth walks over and gives me a hug. I hug her back and then step back. She is slightly teary-eyed again. "Take care of yourself, Swann. And you tell Will too, he better behave."

She smirks. "I can take him."

I pat her on the shoulder. "That's my girl."

Sensing Claudia coming near, Elizabeth shifts away to allow her to hug me. Claudia doesn't embrace me immediately. She stares at me with inscrutable eyes. They are the color of storm clouds; I am pretty familiar with the hue. We saw enough storms while Delia Vargas ran amok.

I draw myself up, bracing myself for anything. She has never struck me, but there's a first time for everything.

When she hugs me, her arms go around me tightly, and I vaguely realize this is how a boa constrictor kills its prey as I find it difficult to breathe. _Damn, how did she get so strong?_ But that's the thing about Claud, I guess, she's sturdier than she appears.

When she pulls away, I take a gasping breath. "Shit, Claud. You almost killed me!" I press my lips together, trying to appear stern and displeased, but the tearful mutiny in her eyes causes my veneer to crack. Before she can stop herself, a sniffle slips out. _Damn it all._ I'm a sympathetic crier, so it's all over now. I sniff in echo.

Elizabeth's eyes go watery again she shakes her head with resolve. "We can do this, ladies. We can be strong. So we will." She reached out for Claudia's hand. "We can get through this can't we?"

Claudia hesitates. After a humming moment, she takes Elizabeth's hand and the duo faces me. _"Buena suerte, 'manita,"_ Claudia says, voice thick with emotion.

What a wonderful sentiment to exit upon. _"Buena suerte, señoras,"_ I say back with a little wave. The turning away is the hardest part. How easy would it have been to remain, to live out my years among them here in this place?

Heart heavier than I realize, I open Claudia's front door and cross the threshold. The door settles back in the frame and the sound is so final.

I walk for a while, letting the conflicting feelings wash over me. The citizens of Port Royal take little notice of me as I slip into an alley to do my preternatural business. Out of sight, I look up at the cloudless Caribbean sky for the last time. My mark has been made. Well, short of a flag entrenched in the ground to announce my presence. _Z.N.S. Was_ _Here._ It has been too long since someone has called me by my birthname. How odd that feels as I think of it. _All the reason to return_ , my conscience tells me.

And so I go.

Our intrepid traveler fades from view as she embraces her home, her natural habitat, her origin. The movement she takes is as slight as one small step as she is thrust through time.

One small step for Nicollette Smith, one giant leap for...well, nevermind.


	3. Unity

_This was originally the ending to "Sparrow" before I decided that it was not what I wanted. But I love this scene. I will just let you read it so I will not give it away. I will say, however, that if the ending seems familiar, it's because I eventually used that for the actual chapter._

* * *

 **#unity** _shows Jack getting an uncomfortable revelation about his friend._

* * *

 _._

 _._

 _._

 _No stronger love in this world_  
 _Oh, baby no, you're my man, I'm your girl_  
 _I'll never go, wait and see, can't be wrong_  
 _Don't you know this is where you belong_

 _Sweet this dream how lovely baby_  
 _Stay right here, never fear_  
 _I will be all that you need_  
 _Never leave, 'cause baby, I believe_

 _\- Anita Baker, "Sweet Love_

 _._

 _._

 _._

* * *

 _The Commodore's Wife: Alternate_

 **#unity**

Jack and Danie waited at the water line, scanning the darkness for Jessica. Danie stood, arms crossed over her chest, while Jack paced.

"She'll be here, Sparrow," Danie assured him.

Jack shook his head. "That woman is unlike any I have ever met. There's little telling what baggage she'll bring when she finally does appear."

Confusion marred Danie's brow. "Baggage?"

Before he could elaborate, the woman in question appeared. Jack paused and put his hands together in satisfaction. "There she is," he murmured with a note of relief.

His smile faded instantly when a group of redcoats marched up behind her. They stopped at her back, and dread pooled in Jack's belly as they parted strategically for a tall man in a navy blue jacket. The man strode through the break in bodies with his hands clasped behind his back, smooth as shaving cream. He stopped next to his wife, face expressionless but eyes emanating a cool smugness. Jack heaved a large, long-suffering sigh.

"Jay, this is not what we agreed upon," he reminded her. "When I offered you the chance to go after Barbossa I didn't mean you and _him_ and his little gang of redcoat lackeys. I meant you _alone_. On your onesies. Sans your supercilious spouse." He pointed at her with an accusing finger. "For a smart lass you sure have forgotten how to do sums."

"I know how to add, Jack," she shot back. "It seems you were the one underestimating."

Danie strode up, wanting to keep the peace. "All right, children." They both went silent. She decided to play negotiator, addressing her older sister. " _Hermana_ , think about what this will mean. You're asking us to work with our enemy." Jessica tilted her head disapprovingly. "Well, you know what I mean! He locked you up twice. What makes you think that he won't do the same to us once we reach our goal?"

"He won't do that, Danie," Jessica responded. "Because he's not my enemy, nor is he yours."

"What kinda magic spell did you have to put on him so he'd consent to that?" Jack wondered aloud.

Danie grimaced at him. "Oh I think you know," she quipped, nudging him suggestively. He looked positively green as he imagined it and visibly shuddered. Norrington flushed a bit but said nothing.

"My participation comes with a caveat," Jessica advised them firmly, trampling all over their impertinent exchange. "Bottom line: if I go, the Commodore comes with me."

"And if I accompany you on this dubious mission, I will have the power and authority of the Royal Navy at my beck," Norrington added, speaking for the first time. "That is non-negotiable, Captain Sparrow."

Jack looked like someone had just burned his hat.

He shifted to appeal to his old friend as he figured addressing Commodore Norrington would land him with accessories made of iron. "But Jay! He's the _Commodore_!"

Jessica shook her head as her husband rolled his eyes at Jack's remark. "Yes, he _is_ the Commodore, and trust me I know that fact well." Norrington quirked an eyebrow at the ironic tone of her voice in the latter part of her statement. "But he's also my husband, Jack. That may mean nothing to you, but it means a great deal to me." She paused to place a hand on Jack's shoulder. "The Commodore and I are a team now. I'm sorry."

After a long moment, he stepped away from her and her hand slid down to her side. Jack stepped up to Norrington, causing the former to narrow his eyes slightly. He flicked a glance from Norrington's feet back up to his face. "Commodore Norrington, I hope you know how lucky you are to have her, mate. If you hurt her I will come after you. Personally."

"An empty threat, Sparrow," Norrington said blandly.

His mouth curved on one side. Anyone who knew him well enough could spot the threat and challenge in his eyes. "Wanna push your luck?"

Norrington's face remained serious. "I don't intend to incite your disapproval, Sparrow, because I will never hurt her."

Jack's dark gaze lingered for a couple of beats before he moved back. Beside Norrington, Jessica's eyes softened at the revelation. She looked up at him sidelong. He met her gaze, and Jack spied the sentiment that passed between them. He was an intelligent fellow, and he knew when he had been bested.

Sometime later, they watched Danie and Jack sail away, Norrington with relief, and Jessica with a bit of regret. Norrington turned and ordered his men back to the fort but he lingered at his wife's side. When they were finally alone, Norrington stepped into her line of sight, hands still clasped behind his back. She looked up at him.

"I am well aware of what you relinquished to include me." He paused, then added after a beat, "Captain."

"And I am well aware of what you would have risked to flank me." Her lips curved slightly. "Commodore."

"Well, as you explained to Sparrow, we're a team now. If you take up arms, darling, I take up arms with you." The cadence of his voice deepened faintly. "We work best that way, remember?"

Her smile faded as he stepped closer. He leaned in until their lips were a breath apart. Despite her resolve to restrain herself she felt her pulse quicken. Damn this man and his pull on her. She firmed her mouth and decided to give as good as she got.

"I suppose we ought to go home now," she murmured.

"I believe you are obligated to uphold your end of our bargain as I behaved myself," he reminded her softly.

"Right you are, Commodore. But I never said when, did I?"

She stepped away as his brows furrowed in disbelief. She turned from him, smiling mischievously.


	4. Squad Goals

**Author's Notes:** _Yep, here we go! the first **#modern** installment! __Its original name was **#partners** , but I changed it because, well, it didn't seem as fun as **#squadgoals**._

 _Could you imagine James suited up in this modern setting and taking charge like the boss he is? **Now** you know where I am coming from. Oh yes, and hello to modern!Jess as well! She is slightly different from my original modern!Jess, but I like this alteration._

 _If you're trying to imagine Jessica's look for the ball, I was inspired by Rachel Weisz from the Agora premiere at the 62nd Annual Cannes Film Festival._

 _If you all like this one, I can continue it!_

* * *

 **#squadgoals** _places Jess and James in a working environment as part of the PRPD. Welcome to Puerto Royal, folks._

 _The hierarchy is as follows (but non-inclusive):_

 _Commander Suzume Arashi_

 _Lieutenant James Norrington (Taskmaster)  
Lieutenant Jessica Thomas (Tigresa)_

 _Detective Theodore Groves  
Detective Phillip Gillette (Big Red)  
Detective Kane (Kah-ne) Tsukimori (Chameleon)_

* * *

 _._

 _._

 _I rock, I roll_  
 _I come to tear the world up  
Let's get ready to rumble_  
 _I shut'em down, shut'em down_  
 _You ready for war?  
Start fightin'_

 _\- Mystikal, "Ready to Rumble"_

 _._

 _._

* * *

 _The Commodore's Wife: Alternate_

 **#squadgoals**

The tang of gunpowder and smoke hung in the air, giving an eerie tinge to the dimly lit hallway. The thunder of gunfire filled the space as bullets came from their opponents down the hall. The projectiles pinged off the metal pipes exposed and threw holes in the plaster. Adrenaline was plentiful, manifesting itself in fierce expressions and muscles ready to spring. The pall of danger was heavy, and with one false move, they could die and take innocent civilians with them.

There was no other place in the world she would rather be.

To the men crouched down around her, she was a new part of the team. She had transferred in from the Gracia Police Department six months ago, after being forced to make a new start. That time seemed a world away at the moment, as if it had happened to another woman. As the shots neared, she addressed the man directly across the opening.

"What are we waiting for?" she yelled.

The green-eyed team leader flicked an irritated look at her. "Stand down, _Tigresa_ , you'll get your chance to shine." He paused and placed his fingertips to his earpiece. After a few seconds he gave a nod. "Affirmative, Beta team." He looked at her again. "You got your wish. Beta is in place. We're going in."

Her lips curved briefly. If it had a chance to bloom, it would not have been a pleasant smile. _Finally._ "Take 'em high, Taskmaster. I'll have your back."

If he disbelieved her, he didn't show it. Not to mention, he had to trust her. They were ostensibly at the sticking point. "On my mark, we go in, ladies and gentlemen. One, two, three— ** _go_**!"

With practiced precision, the team leader darted out and his partner, crouched closer to the ground, swung around the corner with a spray of bullets. Their answering fire cut down some of their opponents, and the group advanced to the room where their suspect was hiding, erroneously believing he could evade them by sending his lackeys first.

He would pay for that error in judgment.

This raid was the result of a tip from one of her certified informants; other teams across the city were storming known dwellings of real estate magnate Francis Gingrich. Before she left Gracia, she had caught the homicide case of one of his victims, a 17-year-old named Robin Baxley. Despite her solid leads, her superiors declared the evidence circumstantial and forced her to resign or transfer. Through the intervention of a different set of higher powers, she was able to keep her rank when she decided to transfer.

Much to her chagrin, tragedy followed her to Puerto Royal; a couple of months into her tenure, she had found herself standing over the lifeless body of 18-year-old Erica Brown on a cold December night. The signs of suffering whispered the name of a familiar assailant.

Six months later, they gathered enough evidence to request a warrant. After so long picking it apart in her head and staring at the case files, she relished the act of doing, of holding her weapon and creeping down this dim hallway in the name of justice.

She heard the shouts and screams as she rose to her full stature. She tried to take solace in the sound of a female crying; if she were dead she wouldn't make a sound.

Taskmaster gestured for the group to spread out, everyone looking out for their partners. Pairs kicked down doors, announced their presence. _Tigresa_ followed Taskmaster through a door that led to the largest room. She felt Chameleon at her back and didn't spare a glance at him but felt grateful he was nearby. Her partner's _**Police! Hands where I can see them!** _ was authoritative and resonant, breaking through the sound of feminine screaming. Expressing anger at being interrupted in the middle of the arduous task of violating the young woman in his midst, Francis Gingrich picked up a gun and hauled the nearly naked girl in front of him while his associates clamored to their feet with their hands up. The muzzle was buried somewhere in her hair.

It didn't matter that the gun wasn't pointed at her; _Tigresa_ warned him to put it down. She would rather not end any lives if she could help it, even this man she considered the scum of the Earth. However, Taskmaster only agreed to a certain point. He found the man's actions abhorrent; a man who would use a woman he had violated as a shield deserved to be taken down. Not to mention, he saw no logical way out of the situation.

One shot. All it took. Crimson bloomed, and the young woman let out a short blast of horror as she was covered in red drops. _Tigresa_ didn't hesitate; she went for the victim as she collapsed into sobs. Gingrich groaned from the ground as Taskmaster wrenched his hurt shoulder when he cuffed him and read him his rights. He called for backup to round up the Gingrich's friends as _Tigresa_ consoled the young woman.

 _You're all right, Chelsea. No one will ever hurt you again._ Chelsea stilled at those words, and _Tigresa_ could see the faith and confidence as it bloomed on her face.

And then her eyes changed. Filled with fear.

Time slowed as it often did when one moved very quickly. _Tigresa_ spied the shadow in the reflection of Chelsea's over-bright eyes, and her head whipped around. Chameleon had been escorting Gingrich from the room when one of his associates had decided to be reckless and go for his weapon.

He aimed the gun at the back of Taskmaster's head.

As the telltale crack of bone split the air, Taskmaster turned and found _Tigresa_ delivering a fierce roundhouse kick to the sternum of the man who nearly shot him. The bullet went into the ceiling. The man flew back a few feet and hit the ground with a thud.

Everyone paused in securing the room and stared at her in astonishment. Chelsea merely gaped.

Taskmaster merely raised an eyebrow at the prone figure and the sprinkle of plaster dust before raising cool green eyes to her as she dropped to a more relaxed stance. The man mumbled tearfully about his chest being broken. Everyone watched with barely suppressed anticipation for what Taskmaster was going to say.

He dusted plaster from his shoulder exasperatedly before he spoke. "Well, it seems you got your crowning moment, _Tigresa_. However, I would have gone for the temple to save us the whining." With that, he stepped over the man and walked away.

She rolled her eyes at his retreating back. "A thank you would suffice, you wanker."

His head turned back briefly in her direction as he strode off, but he wasn't fast enough for her to miss the quick smirk on his face.

* * *

Back at the bullpen, their Commander stood in the middle of the aisle waiting for them to return. She had exchanged her usual tailored suit and heels for her own set of tactical gear, refusing to be left out of a maneuver this important. Her long dark hair had been pulled free from her ponytail, adding a bit of femininity to her overall appearance. When Norrington, flanked by Gillette and Groves on his right and Jessica and Kaneshi on his left, strode in, she glanced up from the paper she had been reading with her cell phone to one ear. She waved them forward and spoke into the phone.

"I wouldn't give a damn if he got his leg chewed off by rabid puppies in the middle of Disneyland. There is absolutely no excuse for his prevarication. You get him here in my house for questioning by 0800 hours or I will have so much litigation on your ass it'll make _Law and Order_ look like _Sesame Street_."

Aside, Groves clapped as the woman snapped her phone shut with a growl. "Commander Arashi, ladies and gentlemen."

The Japanese woman rolled her eyes as the room broke out in applause. "Cut the bullshit, Detective Groves, or I'll bump you down to traffic." The quickness to which he snapped to silence made everyone hold back laughter. Well, except Norrington, who, still serious, sent Groves a disapproving glare sidelong. Groves gave him a _who, me?_ look.

Wanting to get back to business, Jessica stepped to Norrington's side, putting them on the same level. No one missed the symbolism. He flicked a glance in her direction but said nothing. "Commander Arashi, have we heard from all of the tactical teams?"

"Lieutenant Harris from the 402 has yet to check in," she advised.

"Screw that clod," Groves declared. "He cheats at billiards and he's too smooth for his own good."

"Oh knock it off, Groves, before you're on mall security," Gillette said.

Fighting an eyeroll, Commander Arashi addressed the room. At the wave of her hand, everyone went quiet. "I would like to say that I am proud of my team for their hard work in this bust. No matter what rank you are, or which precinct you're from, each and every one of you should be gratified of the work you did tonight. A dangerous man has been stopped, and dozens of young girls will go home to their families tonight." She paused for effect. "But that doesn't mean you get to slack off so get back to work. Why do we succeed, ladies and gentlemen?"

"Because we can," the room intoned.

With a flourish, she concluded her speech and everyone clapped and cheered. She turned back to Norrington and Jessica who were standing behind her and waved them forward. Kane, Groves and Gillette drifted off, getting the feeling Commander Arashi wished to speak to them alone.

"I hope after a speech like that you're not intending to fire me already," Jessica remarked.

Commander Arashi's mouth twitched as she neared, but her features were serious when she stopped in front of them. "I am not going to fire you, Lieutenant. I know it was a great risk you took going after Francis Gingrich on his territory, but the families appreciate the peace of mind."

Jessica could feel Norrington glance at her before speaking. He knew her history with the suspect, knew that she had history with one of his victims. They had fought over the weight of the intelligence against the possible loss of human life—not theirs, but those of the defenseless young women captured. Norrington had thrown every possible catastrophe at her, and she fired back with a solution. When the others bore witness to the exchange, it reminded them of two bulls in a ring. Groves had even yelled out, _Toro!_ in the middle of one of their epic disagreements, to which Jessica had drop-kicked him.

"We work to serve others, Commander," Norrington responded. "I regret that we were not able to catch him sooner, but Lieutenant Thomas's wisdom has been invaluable."

Jessica slid him a dubious glance. She couldn't tell if he was joking or not.

Arashi's eyebrows arched at Jessica's expression. Suddenly she cleared her throat. "Ahem. And perhaps on that note, I should leave you. Good evening, Lieutenants. And excellent work."

When Commander Arashi walked away, Norrington turned to the men—and women—of his unit spoke. They paused and waited out of respect. "Not to diminish what Commander Arashi said in the slightest, but I would like to personally extend my gratitude and pride to every member of this unit. Your hard work does not and will not go unnoticed." His eyes swept over them, all of them, before he resumed speaking. "With that being said, I don't have to remind you that there is still plenty of work to do, ladies and gentlemen. And so I will leave you to it."

"Yes, sir," the chorused and complied with the order. Norrington shifted toward the door as his cell buzzed in his pocket.

He was in his office, staring at his cell phone screen when Jessica knocked on the open door minutes later. She had taken off her Kevlar vest and changed her shirt. A frown marred her brow when she scrutinized his movements.

"Lieutenant?" He looked up at her, green eyes distracted. "Everything all right?"

He cleared his throat and placed his cell aside. "I am fine, Lieutenant." He rose then and removed his own vest. "Did you come here to check on me?"

"Now why would I do something like that?" Jessica shot back with the barest hint of humor in her tone. She could tell he caught it because his mouth quirked. "Actually, Groves and Gillette thought it would be a good idea to round up the unit and blow off some steam at the pub." Norrington's eyebrows quirked. "Yes, they sent me in here to clear it with you."

Norrington asked, "And you thought you could talk me into it?"

"Don't underestimate my fortitude, Lieutenant."

He remembered their verbal sparring on the subject of Gingrich and shook his head lightly. "I don't intend to." His eyes strayed toward his phone and the question hovered upon her lips when he continued, "Yes, I give my permission."

"I'll go tell them." She paused in the doorway before she stepped over the threshold. "You're coming too, right?"

Norrington blinked in surprise. "Lieutenant Thomas, I cannot partake—"

She rolled her eyes. "And what are you going to do tonight instead? Go home and organize your suit collection?" He gave her a bland stare. She lifted a shoulder, deciding to take a different approach. "If you are chicken, then you can just—"

He interrupted her abruptly. "I'll be there, Lieutenant."

She kept her composure until she walked away out of his sight, chuckling to herself. _Works every time,_ she mused.

* * *

An hour later, the unburdened officers congregated at Flanagan's, filling the pub with their relief and high spirits. After everyone was supplied with beverages of choice, a grand toast was given, to which came many enthusiastic affirmations and agreements. Jessica found herself caught up in the yelling and celebration until she noticed Norrington slipping out of the door.

As the exuberance faded from her, bemusement quickly took its place. Armed with her beer bottle, she followed in her partner's footsteps.

She found him at one of the empty tables set up for outside dining during the warmer months, drumming his fingers absently on the tabletop. His half-full beer bottle stood untouched next to his cell phone. He stared at the street thoughtfully, the cars passing and the people strolling, unknowing background to the mire of his mind. She took a moment and just stared at him, finding the loosened tie and less-than-perfect posture compelling.

She wasn't afforded the chance for very long; after a couple of beats, his gaze focused upon her a bit warily. She stood in place with the inexplicable instinct to stay back for a moment longer.

She figured short and simple would be best. "Permission to join?" she asked.

He shifted, drawing himself up to his normal posture. "Granted."

She walked up to the empty to his left and pulled out the chair. She placed it at an acceptable distance from his before settling into it. She leaned forward, elbows on knees, bottle in her fingertips. She basked in the relative silence between them, allowing a couple minutes to pass before she spoke.

"I never...thanked you for your understanding," she finally remarked. She traced the label with her thumb. "You went out on a limb for me on this case. It could have cost you your job, your reputation." She fell silent for an instant. "It almost cost me mine." She sat up straighter and glanced at him before staring at the street. "So thank you, Lieutenant."

He surprised her by responding, "In all honesty I should actually be thanking you."

She guffawed, deciding to play off her shock with humor. "Lieutenant, are you ill? Do you feel feverish?" He merely raised an eyebrow at her. "Well, forgive me for my utter amazement. I wasn't aware you perceived things that way."

"You would be surprised at the inner workings of my mind."

She turned to him with an impish twinkle in her eye. "Are you trying to say that you actually have _emotions_ , Mr. Norrington?" She received a bland stare for that comment. However, something lingered in his eyes that made her brow furrow. "I know you're usually not the life of the party, but you seem rather subdued this evening."

He exhaled deeply as if coming to a decision. "I am preoccupied about a personal matter."

She shrugged to try to seem affable and approachable. "Well, theoretically, as your partner...we can, you know, talk. About personal things."

He fingered the outline of his phone idly as if he were considering her offer. She sipped from her bottle and waited for him to come around.

Finally, he revealed, "I am in a serious relationship with someone..."

"Mhm," Jessica murmured, "and did something happen with said person with whom you have this serious relationship?"

"I suppose you could say that."

"Something bad?"

"At the time, I didn't think so. But now, I am not sure."

She stole a glance at him. For a moment, his cool veneer slipped, and she spied his dread. She frowned again. "Did…you do something?"

He fidgeted more noticeably this time. She raised an eyebrow in question. After a long pause, he merely said, "I…sort of proposed."

A lengthy silence ensued after which…

Jessica threw back her head and laughed.

James sighed and shook his head in consternation as her laughter rang out around him. The regret that he had opened his mouth scored deep. When she had reached the point that tears flowed from her eyes and her stomach hurt, she quieted and shook her own head. "My God, Lieutenant, you are most _definitely_ going to have to explain that one. How do you sort of propose? Do you ask, _Will you sort of marry me?_ Or something?"

Lifting his bottle to his mouth, he said, "No, forget it. Forget I said anything."

"Oh no, Norrington. You can't weasel your way out of this that easily." She paused for a moment and looked at his profile. His face had been schooled to blankness, but there were tells, around the eyes, in the set of his lips. She gave a slight incline to her head. "All joking aside, it can't have been that bad, right?" Silence. "Right?" More silence. "Trust me, it can't have been as embarrassing as catching your husband on the coffee table with your mother."

James looked at her in astonishment. She had, prior to this moment, imparted little information about her divorce. "You caught your ex having sex with your mother?"

She coughed violently as the beer went down the wrong pipe. "Fucking bloody hell you nearly killed me." She cleared her throat but her voice still came out ragged. "No...I mean he was having sex with _another_ woman and my mother was with me when I caught him." She took a careful gulp of beer to settle her itchy throat. "I thought I had seen absolutely everything there is to see. I mean, how can you not being a police lieutenant? But there I was, standing in the living room where I just added new fucking drapes to match the hideous couch he talked me into buying, and my mum is chattering about how my baby sister dumped watercolor all over a classmate, when all of a sudden this high-pitched female moans, _Oh Laurie!_ " It was James's turn to press his lips together to keep from breaking out into an actual expression as Jessica imitated the other woman's breathy moan. "Then Mama yelps, sounding like someone has stuck a Taser on low stun up her skirt"—James's face went extremely red, both out of mortification and from trying to keep a straight face—"and all at once I've drawn my gun, mostly out of habit, and Ol' _Laurie_ reaches orgasm with a loud growl that I've _never_ found sexy let me just tell you. The force of his final thrusts prompts the table to fall apart under the adulterous little shits and we are assaulted with the sight of my soon-to-be ex-husband's lily white ass stuck up in the air for all to see. If _that_ isn't a telling allegory, I don't know what is.

"Anyhow, at that moment he stands and tries to babble out an excuse with his shriveling front now in my mum's view, it blurs for me because I have the most epic outburst ever known to man," she finished. "I think I may have shot at him with my clutch piece. Luckily for the divorce settlement, I missed." She swigged beer as he absorbed the tale in shell-shocked silence. "Go ahead. I know you want to have a laugh. It's perfectly natural."

James sipped his own drink a while before answering. "So I gather he got the coffee table in the settlement?"

Jessica gaped at him coolly sipping beer. When she got over her shock she let out a short blast of a chuckle. "Oh ha ha. The Statue made a joke and now we all must collapse in laughter."

James quirked an eyebrow. "So that's my handle?"

"Hey, at least you're not the Shrew," she responded. "At least you've the potential to be Michelangelo's _David_ if you wanted. It's more likely I'll be accused of assault with a deadly frying pan." James almost nearly smiled at that. _Ah, progress._ She raised her bottle. "Let's drink to us. And our ridiculous handles."

They clinked bottles as the front door swung open, and the din from inside spilled into their quiet moment. Gillette and Groves's voices drifted toward them and she noted that Norrington straightened slightly. _Always the Lieutenant_ , Jessica mused, shaking her head.

"Hey Lieutenants!" Groves called out. "Why'd you ditch us? Are we not rank enough to find us worthy of your time?"

Jessica rolled her eyes and countered, "Does it honestly have to be about _you_ , Detective? What if we just wanted to enjoy our drinks with the fresh air and the starlit sky?"

As they stopped in front of them and leaned on the gate, Groves guffawed. "Aw, Congratulations Jess, I didn't know you and Norrington were going steady. Say, did he use the note with check boxes to ask you out on your first date?"

James gave him a stern stare that had their spines straightening involuntarily and swallowing their mirth. "Do not make light of my partnership with the Lieutenant, gentlemen. We are all very aware of how the wrong information can be quickly misconstrued."

Gillette eyed Groves with the air of _why do you always get us in trouble, mate?_ Groves stifled a grin and shrugged. Jessica glanced at James before taking a drink, a mite surprised at the tone of his reprimand. "While he raises a good point, Detectives, you will have to excuse him for his brusque delivery." She rose to her feet and squeezed herself between Gillette and Groves, who peered at her in bemusement. She tilted her head and stared steadily at her partner. His brows raised fractionally. "He is not having the best evening."

Gillette squinted thoughtfully as Groves made a face. Jessica drank blithely, waiting for the Detectives to fall into her trap. She would get it out of James one way or another. "We just had one of the biggest busts of the year and you're not having the best evening?" He freed a hand to take a swig of beer. "I've got to hear this."

Gillette groaned in exasperation as James set his mouth in a line and exuded the intent to maim with eyes. He hated that expression. _No one_ liked that expression. In fact, they had nightmares about that expression. Someone was _so_ getting fired tonight. "Theo, drop it, would you?"

"No, no." Jessica waved a hand and returned James's intense stare. "I think the Lieutenant owes us an explanation. After all, this is supposed to be a time of celebration, and even more, increased partnership. This is merely the four of us having an informal discussion over a personal matter. I believe it's perfectly appropriate, given the circumstances."

James averted her gaze and rose angrily from his seat. He turned his back on them. "A personal matter?" Groves repeated. His face went slack with apprehension as he figured it out. "It's about Elizabeth, isn't it?"

James whirled. His green eyes were filled with surprise and a smidgen of unease as if Groves had betrayed a great secret. Jessica nodded with realization. "Ah...so _that's_ her name? Elizabeth's the woman you sort of asked you to marry?"

Gillette, while determined not to aid and abet Jessica and Groves in their fact-finding scheme (and with that not get canned), knew how monumental this was for their Lieutenant and couldn't help his widening eyes. "James, you proposed?"

"Wait, wait, wait." Groves pushed himself off the metal railing and walked closer to James. "She said you _sort of_ asked Elizabeth to marry you. Just curious here, Lieutenant, but how do you _sort of propose_ to a woman? I need an explanation. This doesn't quite seem possible."

"That what I said!" Jessica cried. She joined Gillette at his side. "James, we are not here to make fun of you, I swear. We just..." She trailed off and held up her palms. "We would like to help," she finished. "Besides, it can't be worse than the _Thrust that Killed the Coffee Table_."

Groves choked on his drink and Gillette had to come over to pat his back, shaking his head all the while. "The bloody hell? That sounds like a porn title."

"Trust me, you don't want to know," Jessica told him.

James stared at them, realizing they were not going to give up until they heard what happened. He knew how tenacious they could be, especially his partner. "Oh all right." he sighed and looked down at the ground then the sky. "Elizabeth was sitting on my counter as I was making her dinner when I began setting up the big moment asking her to be my wife."

 _Pause._ Jessica's eyes narrowed. _That's not all..._

"And...?" Groves prompted with a _continue_ gesture.

James sighed. _Oh heavens. Not a good sign._ "When I got to _Will you marry...?_ she...fell off the countertop...and we had to go to the emergency room."

Groves and Gillette blinked at him in disbelief. Jessica made a face as if she had been made to drink pure lemon juice and hung her head in second-hand embarrassment as she placed her hand over her mouth.

"Is...she all right?" Jessica asked after she moved her hand away from her mouth, still utterly dumbstruck.

James looked faintly glum. "Yes, but she's barely speaking to me."

 _Pause._

"Respectfully, sir," Groves began, "that is the most inept thing I have ever heard in my life—and trust me I have seen some inept things."

"Oh, kind of how you were trying to hit on that waitress a few minutes ago?" Gillette mocked.

"That was not inept, Red. That was just unsuccessful," Groves protested.

Jessica raised a hand to capture everyone's attention. The men quieted. She looked at James, who to his credit did not fidget under her gaze. "All right, Lieutenant, it is obvious what has to happen now. You need to go to see said amour…and do it correctly." She placed her hand on his shoulder. "Tell me something, when you see the rest of your life, is she there?"

Something flickered across Norrington's face. "I believe that falls under the classification of something too personal to reveal."

She buried the urge to hit him. Hadn't they gotten past that shielding bullshit? "Well, if you know the answer to that then what else is there to debate?" She took his bottle from him and placed it aside. Quicker than he could blink, she had his keys in her hand. She jingled them. "Are you a man, James Norrington? Or are you..." She tossed the keys at him and he caught them expertly. "A mouse?"

Being an investigator for nearly 12 years had taught her the art of retreat. Being James Norrington's partner had taught her to quit with him while she was ahead. Tugging the two detectives along, Jessica turned to reenter the pub. She managed to keep from glancing back until they were about to cross the threshold, and when she did, she found that James was gone.

* * *

The next morning Jessica walked into James's office, coffee in each hand. She still sported signs of recent awakening; her hair was still damp and the skin on her face had that just-washed tint. Her dark blue long-sleeved Henley and jeans filled his office with the scent of fabric softener, indicating she had plucked them straight from the dryer.

She placed the extra coffee cup on the desktop, noting the suit jacket hanging on the coat stand. She recognized the label from one of the suits that had been in her ex-husband's closet. It was a pricey brand. "You are more polished than usual this morning, Lieutenant."

Norrington briefly regarded the cup then went back to writing. "Giving testimony on the Baker case later this morning."

Jessica watched him for a moment, sipping coffee. Realizing that she wasn't going to say anything until he acknowledged her, Norrington paused and peered up at her. "Was there something you needed?"

She was not deterred by his tone. "Yeah... So…how did it go?" He didn't even blink. "You know, last night?" Still nothing. "With Elizabeth?"

"It went…" He trailed off and Jessica's remained silent, trying not to let her concern show. He would surely balk then. "Things did not happen in the way I expected."

Jessica blinked, then squinted at him in disbelief. "Elaborate?"

Norrington exhaled and rose. He rounded his desk and made Jessica tilt her head to look up at him when he stopped in front of her. She found herself faintly wondering why he was standing so close. She wasn't disturbed by the view by any means, but what it _meant_ , however…

"James Lawrence Norrington, are you up to something?" Jessica asked in a suspicious tone.

Norrington stifled an eyeroll at the use of his full name. "And here I thought we were partners. There is no need for you to be so immediately distrusting of me."

She gave him a bland stare. _Shit._ She'd learned that from him. Very well in fact.

He sighed. "Fine. I need a favor."

"Mmm…" Jessica brought the coffee cup to her curving lips and took a long sip. "Does this have anything to do with Miss Swann?" The flicker in his eyes indicated that it had _everything_ to do with Miss Swann. _He is totally gone over her. I wonder if he knows?_ "What do you need, Lieutenant?"

* * *

"Are you kidding me?"

Jessica heaved a big sigh and silently cursed her partner for leaving her to do his dirty work. She forked up a piece of eggplant parmigiana from her Tupperware container and glared at Groves as he took a huge bite of hamburger. "Do I look like I am kidding?"

Sitting down at the table, Gillette dipped a fry in ketchup. "So what are we expected to do?" he asked, ignoring Groves's query. "The men from the security company Mayor Swann hired for the event are ex-CIA, ex-FBI and ex-Special Forces. I don't think they are in need of more firepower in the room. They've enough of it to shoot into space."

"If you ask me," Kane remarked as he crunched on a cashew, "I'd say we wouldn't be there to help guard the party." Everyone looked at him inquisitively. He continued, "He's not asking for help to defend the place. I think he wants to have us there for…personal ballast."

 _Pause._

Groves, Jessica, and Gillette broke into laughter. And just as suddenly they stopped as the meaning of Kane's words dawned.

"Holy buggering hell, he's gonna do it," Gillette said. "He's gonna bloody propose to the Mayor's daughter at the ball. For keeps this time."

Groves crumpled his burger wrapper and three-pointed it into the trash can. "Well, I suppose if he's gonna step onto a limb, might as well have his best mates around to pull him out if he bungles it again. Not to mention, the nibbles are going to be stellar. I cannot wait. I bet they're having caviar imported from Antarctica or something posh like that."

Jessica scrunched her nose. "I am not a big fan of fish eggs. They give me the creeps." She fought off an involuntary shudder.

Kane popped an almond in his mouth and shrugged. "Forget the food. I'm more worried about what to wear anyways. I can't go to an event like this with something off-the-rack."

Gillette rolled his eyes. "You _would_ be, Kane. Honestly, I don't even understand how you can be a homicide detective and still look like you hopped off the cover of _GQ_."

Kane gave the red-haired man a roguish grin. "It's a gift." He addressed Jessica, who had taken a more than normal interest in her lunch. "And what about you, Lieutenant? Do you have some devastating number hiding in your closet waiting to be revealed?"

"Yeah, the thigh holster for my clutch piece," she retorted as she forked up the last of her lunch. "It's bejeweled." Gillette snorted at that.

"Oh come on, Kane. You know the only dress she has in her closet is from the Sadie Hawkins dance when she was in 5th grade," Groves joked as Jessica passed him.

Her response to that was the delivery of a swift punch to his gut, dropping him to the floor with a thud as she strode out swallowing her leftovers.

As Groves groaned on the floor for his mother, Gillette merely looked down at his partner and shook his head in consternation.

* * *

The Mayor's Ball proved to be the most exclusive and most anticipated event of the year; the wealthy and powerful vied for invites, even stooping to trying to bribe the Mayor for an entry on the guest list.

Groves and Gillette waited in the grand foyer of the ballroom for Jessica and Kane to arrive. They took in the high ceilings and the glittering chandeliers, not able to conceal their awe. Partygoers milled around them, clad in high-priced evening wear and jewels. Gillette and Groves fit in with the male guests in their serviceable tuxedos and buffed shoes.

"Classy shindig," Groves remarked.

"Norrington will fit right in this with this set," Gillette observed.

"The perks of a trust fund," Groves mused as he admired some of the specimen as they passed them by.

"You know he would give it up if he could," Gillette reminded him. He nodded as a familiar figure strode toward them. "And don't look now, but Mr. Fashion Plate is on the catwalk."

"Which one?" Groves quipped. He looked in the direction Gillette was and smirked. "Oh, _that_ one."

Kane strode toward them, clad in a sophisticated, slim-cut black suit. Unlike the rest of them, he wore his long black hair unbound and framing his handsome face. He stood out like a sleek and stylish swan in the midst of a group of gaudy peacocks and gauche pigeons. Gillette and Groves looked dashing in their tuxedos but in comparison…

"Good evening, gentlemen," Kane greeted them.

"Decided to show the rest of us up, didn't you?" Groves asked.

"You make it painfully easy," Kane shot back in jest. He looked around but didn't find the rest of their group. "Has anyone seen Jess or Norrington?"

"Are we going inside or what?"

The female voice had them all turning. The woman in their midst was clad in a strapless dark green dress that faded into a dark blue past the knee. Jewels winked at her ears and right wrist. Her mane of dark brown hair cascaded down her right shoulder, leaving the other bare. She shifted onto her left leg and they were afforded a peek at a toned calf and leg-accentuating heels.

Groves shifted closer to her, a gleam in his eye. "And who is this lovely creature? Say, are you new to town?"

She rolled her eyes. "Sod off, Groves." Jessica's voice emerged from the beauty's mouth and broke the spell. "Where is Norrington?"

"At your back as always, Lieutenant."

Norrington's baritone voice had everyone standing a little straighter. Jessica turned and took in the sight of her partner in his tailored tuxedo with slicked back hair. The suit was cut to accentuate his trim frame, and the diamond cuff links added a sheen of quiet sophistication. Jessica tilted her head in approval.

"Armani?" Kane hedged.

Norrington quirked an eyebrow at the Japanese detective. "Amazing your capacity for labels. If only you showed such enthusiasm for writing reports."

Kane waved a hand in dismissal at Norrington's dry remark. "Bah. Reports are overrated. But couture"—he executed a stylish turn—"is enduring."

"Are they paying you to spout this rot?" Gillette inquired.

Kane merely smirked and winked.

Groves put his hands together to get everyone's attention. "So now that we are all gathered here in the name of...what is this for again?"

"The Gaia Foundation," Gillette reminded him.

"The Gaia Foundation," he repeated, "could we possibly go inside now?"

"You just want to see the food," Kane accused.

"And you just want to see the clothes," Groves shot back.

Jessica fought an eyeroll and looked at Norrington. Impatience emanated from him as the grand clock signaled the top of the hour. She placed a light hand on his forearm. He gazed her with unreadable green eyes.

"Ready?" she asked.

He adjusted a cuff and nodded faintly. "I will have to be." He gestured for her to go in front of him. "After you, Lieutenant."

They crossed the foyer and walked to the entrance as two men swung open the doors for them. As the doors parted, revealing the ornately decorated ballroom within, flashbulbs popped, assaulting them with light. Slightly uncomfortable with the scrutiny, Jessica took a deep breath and strode forward. Norrington flanked her on the right, Kane on the left. Gillette walked in behind Norrington, Groves behind Kane. The curious eyes devoured her and the four men in her midst as they passed the line of photographers, and she lifted her chin fractionally.

To Norrington's right, she heard Gillette whisper, "We're not in Narnia anymore."

As far as observations went, it was a mild understatement.


	5. Clause

_This scene was originally a part of "Mother/Mourning" and I loved it. However, when I read it, I decided it didn't quite fit. But I didn't want to scrap it completely. So here we are!_

* * *

 **#clause** _pits our stubborn protagonists against one another briefly; James wants to go back after being wounded. But what will Jessica make him to win her consent?_

* * *

 _._

 _._

 _._

 _I have no defense_  
 _I know you're gonna get me in the end_  
 _(gonna get me in the end)_  
 _And I cannot pretend_  
 _I never want to feel this way again_

 _\- Maroon 5, "Give A Little More"_

 _._

 _._

 _._

* * *

 _The Commodore's Wife: Alternate_

 **#clause**

When he awoke two mornings later, he was alone.

The lack of movement during the past couple of days left him stiff, but he felt the pain had lessened. He barely remembered any cohesive moment from the past two days; he had flashes of his wife, Suzume and Jasper tending to him at various intervals, warm liquid sliding down his throat. And the dreams… The images his brain had created in his unconscious state had been visceral and varied. His wife, his late mother and mother-in-law had featured prominently in them. He could not remember exactly what had occurred, just that he was unsettled and could no longer stay in this bed. Judging from the fogginess of his brain, he guessed Suzume had slipped some sort of sedative into whatever she had been giving him.

He shifted himself into a sitting position and tried to ignore the pain. He slid his feet onto the floor and shakily stood. His legs gave out on him and he grabbed the chair that had been nearby. He had a faint recollection of Jessica sleeping there, afraid she would hurt him if she slept in bed but did not want to be in another room. White-knuckled, he forced himself upright. After several starts and stops, he finally made it across the floor to the closet.

By the time he had donned his uniform, he was covered in a sheen of sweat. He gritted his teeth and fought the fatigue, the nausea and pain. He could do this. He had to do this. It was not merely a matter of pride; it was a matter of duty. He had been dormant long enough.

That strength of will carried him out of the room and down the stairs. He took each step slowly, as the descent jolted his bones. When he reached the bottom, the sound of voices reached him. He recognized his butler's voice immediately, advising everyone in clipped tones (as if he had to repeat this) that his master was still abed. It sounded like they were in the dining room, so Norrington headed in that direction.

He hovered in the doorway and took in the scene. Governor Swann was the closest to the door, but his back was to Norrington. To his left stood Gillette, and a few feet away Elizabeth Turner was located behind a chair with Suzume directly opposite. Jasper had positioned himself next to Suzume.

And his wife? She occupied the middle of the space, stonily silent.

"We need to see how he is," Governor Swann stated in response to Jasper's assertion.

"I assure you there is little chance he is in any shape to return yet," Gillette said.

Norrington decided it would be the best moment to speak. "I will be the judge of that."

Governor Swann turned around. The others shifted to get a better look of the pale man in the doorway. The only one who had not moved was his wife.

"James!" Elizabeth exclaimed.

"My God!" Governor Swann blurted at the sight of him. His efforts had left him pale, and two days with nothing but liquids had thinned his frame. The uniform was a bit baggy in some places. "Commodore Norrington, you look utterly dreadful. Perhaps you should go back to bed."

"I…" He stepped away from the doorway, deciding that standing on his own would help sell the case for his next statement. "I feel that I have recovered enough to return to my duties."

"Master, I must insist," Jasper demurred.

"You need more time," Elizabeth piped up.

James said nothing and raised his eyes to the person directly in front of him.

Jessica leaned against the table, arms crossed over her chest. She watched her husband with a blank expression. Even her eyes were unreadable. Governor Swann, Gillette, Elizabeth, Jasper, and Suzume looked to her for a reaction. She didn't seem to acknowledge them. Her complete focus was on her husband. She gave a very slight incline to her head. The only sound that filled the room was the tapping of Jessica's left index finger on her right arm.

Governor Swann decided he would break the silence. "Well, Mrs. Norrington? No objections?"

 _Tap. Tap. Tap._ Jessica shook her head lightly. "No," she said languidly. "I have no objections to James going to Fort Charles."

Gillette looked at her in astonishment. This woman was going to be the end of the Commodore, he could feel it. "You have to be jesting. You truly have no objections?"

"Nary a one." Jessica still looked at her husband. He tried to read her but was unsuccessful. The beginnings of apprehension began to leech him of the self-righteousness he clung to by sheer force of will. "The gentlemen deserve to see their leader and by God considering the circumstances who are we to prevent them?"

Jasper and Suzume shared a look. He raised an eyebrow inquisitively, and she gave a tiny nod. He watched the rest of the exchange play out.

"Their leader is barely standing," Gillette pointed out angrily. "Their leader nearly _died_ a few days ago."

She didn't even blink. "Did not even try to refute those facts in the slightest."

Governor Swann raised a hand. Clearly he did not agree either, but he hardly was going to allow Jessica and Gillette to fight over it. It was clear they were getting no help from the Commodore's wife. "Obviously the discussion has run its course. If we are leaving, we should get going."

Norrington looked at his wife for a long moment before following Governor Swann and Gillette out of the dining room. Elizabeth looked to Jessica, then Norrington, and finally rested on Suzume who appeared too calm. She raised an eyebrow in the same manner Jasper had; Suzume inclined her head in Jessica's direction but said nothing.

So they waited.

"I do however…" The men paused as Jessica stepped into the foyer. "…have…" Her gaze fell onto Norrington again. "…a _condition_."

Norrington's shoulders stiffened and he turned fractionally. "And would you like to share your condition with us?"

"Of course, _darling_ ," Jessica crooned, her voice dripping with feigned joviality. She stepped up to him and put herself in front of Gillette. "I will not stop you from going to Fort Charles this morning, and I will not allow anyone to stop you either." Gillette, frustrated and not wanting to see any more of the Commodore being allowed to flout his own health, started to open the door. Without batting an eyelash, she extended her arm and the door slammed shut with a loud bang. Behind them Elizabeth jumped. "I hope you weren't trying to leave, Gillette. That would be rude of you. Besides you'll miss the best part."

"You…you…" Gillette sputtered, fury getting the best of him. "You cruel, thoughtless woman. What kind of person would allow the person she loves to put himself in a position—?"

She turned slightly and patted Gillette on the shoulder. "Oh come now, Lieutenant, no need to get upset." She turned back to Norrington. _"He hasn't heard my condition yet."_

He knew that tone of voice, that look in her eye. He was _fucked_. "And your condition is?"

"You get to go be Commodore Norrington, but _I_ get to come along." Norrington went paler and opened his mouth to object but she went on, voice graver and quieter. "If you think for one _moment_ that I will allow you to step over this threshold without me in tow, you have another thing coming James Lawrence Norrington."

He pressed his lips together. "This is insane," he insisted.

"No," Jessica shot back, the emotion she had been suppressing leaking through. "You thinking that you're superhuman is _insane_ , James. So either we both go—or we both stay. Commodore's choice."

Elizabeth's eyes went wide. Governor Swann blinked rapidly in astonishment. Gillette gaped. There was no way that Norrington would agree to this. No wonder she had been so nonchalant.

James finally relented. "All right fine. You win." He went to the door and opened it. "After you, Mrs. Norrington."

Something flickered in Jessica's eyes but she said nothing. She stared at her husband for one long moment before striding over the threshold. Gillette stormed out and Norrington sighed when he passed. Elizabeth came up, brown eyes filled with worry. He blanked his features deliberately.

"James," she chided. "I can't believe this."

"I have a duty to uphold, Elizabeth," Norrington said stiffly. "Jessica's presence is the lesser of two evils."

She watched him walk away as Suzume and Jasper came to the doorway. Suzume shook her head in consternation. The air between Mr. and Mrs. Norrington seemed strained at best, and Gillette looked like he wanted to disown the lot of them. Governor Swann had the appearance of a man dreading the next fifteen minutes of his life.

"How long do you think it'll take for him to regret it?" Elizabeth wondered aloud.

"Not long enough, Mrs. Turner," Jasper quipped as the carriage set off for Fort Charles.


	6. Scruffington

**Author's Notes:** _I tried mightily not to make this drag on forever and ever (I figure for the modern ones I will go over my 2,000-2,500 word limit for these little things but I am allowed) so I purposely did not document the fight blow-by-blow, just that it happened._

 _I will have to continue this one, just on principle. I mean, I can't leave it where it is, now can I?_

* * *

 _ **#scruffington** answers my internal query, But what if Norrington had **not** caught Captain Jay? of course I am relying heavily upon  DMC for Norrie's outward appearance and current location._

* * *

 _._

 _._

 _._

 _If I Let Her Get Away_  
 _Then The World Will_  
 _Have To See_  
 _A Fool Who Lives Alone_  
 _And The Fool Who  
_ _Set You Free_

 _\- Michael Jackson, "Can't Let Her Get Away"_

 _._

 _._

 _._

* * *

The Commodore's Wife: Alternate

 **#scruffington**

It had been a while since she had been to Tortuga, but it still had the faint ring of home.

Taking a short break from the persona of Captain Raul Jay felt like a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. As she let go and embraced her own self, she realized that the role left great strain, and the lives wrecked or lost by her hand began to haunt her. She took solace in her sisters' glory. Claudia's playing sounded as gorgeous as ever, and Danie's archery skills became more accurate by the day. Gretchen and Samantha disguised themselves as men and worked down at the shipyard where the _Diamond_ was hidden. At first it had been a lark, but the duo found that they enjoyed being near the water. The rest of Jessica's former crew had scattered, rewarded with a generous tribute. That last heist had shown itself to be lucrative in a number of ways.

Now, several weeks after Claudia had been taken and the two of them had divested Cutler Beckett of his fortune, Jessica walked into the Faithful Bride, business on her mind. She had a meeting to sell a couple of the items she still had from Beckett's estate. She had been liquidating items quietly and discreetly so that she attracted less attention, but this had been the first time she had met somewhere so close to her old existence. She sucked up her courage and pressed forward.

The transaction went well, settling Jessica's nerves once it was completed. Despite his lack of polish, her partner in this brief venture was smooth, and the exchange occurred swiftly. She headed for the exit, before the stirrings of nostalgia and temptation had her lingering.

The tall figure bumped into her and had her stumbling back a couple of steps. When the offender stumbled off without an apology, she whirled around, her cheeks stained with indignation.

"Hey, watch it you bloody buggering arsehole!" she yelled angrily. "Didn't your mum teach you any manners?"

As the sound of her voice was akin to a brick wall in his path, he paused abruptly. She rolled her eyes and turned to walk out of the tavern, shaking her head in consternation. Perhaps I've gotten spoiled, she mused. Meanwhile, across the room amid the din, the mysterious man turned as well and spied that familiar profile. He only had nightmares about her every night since he had lost his commission; he would see her even if she had not been there.

The woman who had singlehandedly ruined his life was within his grasp.

This was a sign, he was convinced. The days he had wallowed in the mire of his failure, placating himself with copious amounts of alcohol, perhaps were not completely in vain.

He could finally put an end to his nightmares...by ending the life of the woman who fueled them.

Walking with a steadiness and stealth that he thought had been taken from him as his former position had been, the man strode out of the Faithful Bride and into the night.

* * *

She slept fitfully that night but could not pinpoint the reason.

For this particular voyage, she had chosen to have Gretchen accompany her. The young woman had the disadvantage of being the youngest in the family, and lately Jessica had noticed her how the years of being eclipsed had affected her _hermanita_. Gretchen, while extremely upbeat and optimistic, harbored fears of being abandoned by her family, and Jessica wanted to ease those worries.

So far, the air between them had been full of mirth, and Jessica promised herself she would continue this even after they got back home. After dinner, they had sat out under the stars and told stories, during which Jessica had learned that her little sister wanted to be just like her. The revelation was startling. After the awkward silence, Gretchen had offered to take up watch duty while Jessica slept.

In the middle of her dreamless slumber, she felt a strange presence and immediately opened her eyes.

A man stood over her and stared down like she was the mud on the bottom of his shoe. The intensity of his hatred and resentment shook her to her core. She searched her brain for a reason why this man was in her private quarters and why he intended to end her life.

As his features became familiar to her, and realization dawned, her mouth pursed in a tight line. _Commodore Norrington._

The adornments that indicated his position were gone, and his uniform had been left in rags. The perfectly coiffed wig was long gone and his dark brown hair hung in damp and dirty waves around his sooty visage. He still wore the heavy blue jacket, rendered almost unrecognizable by dirt. She recognized the metal point under her chin, however. Somehow, despite his misfortune, he had been able to procure a weapon.

She flicked her eyes downward before lifting her gaze to his. She took in his rigid stance and calculated the best method of attack. She felt in the bed beside her for her pistols but their cold weight had been moved from her side. Most likely his doing. _Dammit._

"To what do I owe the pleasure, _Mr._ Norrington?" she asked acridly.

His eyes sharpened with fury at her irreverent _Mr. Norrington,_ and he observed with sinister delight the slight wince she gave when he buried the tip into her neck, not enough to kill her yet but enough to draw a drop of blood on to the blade. _Impertinent bitch._ "Your end will be my redemption," he said.

She raised an eyebrow. "I refuse to have my worth be so cheaply spent," she retorted. She moved her hand infinitesimally closer to the hem of her nightshirt and thanked her foresight for getting a dark blanket. _Keep him talking,_ _cariña_ _._ "Besides, who says you have to kill me? Perhaps I could have some worth for you alive."

"People like you possess no worth for me," he responded. "Unless you're hanging from a noose."

"And who looks good with rope burns?" she quipped. She slipped her hand in-between her legs…and wrapped her fingers around the handle of her dagger. Damned if she wasn't going to go down fighting. "I prefer…" _Careful,_ _cariña_ _._ She slipped it from its sheath and tried to make the movement as inconspicuous as possible. "…the rope burns to be…" She did a silent cheer when she felt it slide home. "…other places, but it's a pity you know _nothing_ about that, isn't it?"

His face contorted with hatred and he yanked her up by the other arm. Sadly he'd made a reckless tactical move by making contact. He believed since he was armed that he had the upper hand. Unfortunately he had underestimated the ingenuity of his opponent.

She didn't fight fair. As evidenced by her plunging her dagger into his right shoulder as he attempted to pull her up onto her feet.

He growled with pain and fury as she kicked him in the stomach and sent him stumbling. On her way above, she grabbed her _katana_ , glad she hadn't decided to leave it at home after all. She heard him growl and her dagger hit the floor as she made the climb to reach the upper deck. She ignored the rush of wind under the nightshirt reminding her that she wore nothing underneath. It would do no good to worry about modesty now.

A white hot pain lanced up her leg and she stumbled slightly. When fingers wrapped around her bleeding ankle, she swung out as hard as she could with her other foot. The move was hardly adept, but the blow landed on his cheek, stunning him enough that he let go of her ankle. She scurried up and found herself under the twilight sky. She glanced down at her ankle an instant before she spotted the top of his head as he ascended to the upper deck after her. She pushed herself to her barefeet as his feet hit the wood with a sound _thud_.

Still bleeding from his right shoulder and a bruise forming on his right cheek, Norrington eyed her and raised his sword with the intent to duel with her.

 _Oh. So **this** is how he wants it?_ She slid her blade from its sheath, and it came free with a _ting_. "You have poked at the wrong woman, Mr. Norrington," she said. "I usually require dinner first."

His eyes flashed with contempt from the obvious double entendre. "I'll make sure you get a healthy serving of crow before I kill you."

And so they fought.

* * *

He hated to admit it, but they were evenly matched. She was a bit heavy handed with her swordsmanship, but her weapon possessed more weight than his and she moved quickly on her feet. Her obvious lack of underclothing and the gash on her ankle were her only handicaps.

As the telltale warming of the sky heralded sunrise, she could feel her will draining. Norrington, with his taller stature and stellar Royal Navy form, presented a more worthy opponent than she had anticipated.

Eventually they collapsed on opposite sides, her foot nearly crimson and his coat sleeve dark where blood had run down his arm. Their deadly duel had ended on an exhausted draw. She watched him, chest heaving with exertion, and decided what to do. Part of her wanted to just kill him for the inconvenience. And the other part of her wondered if she didn't.

After she was sure the fight had gone out of him, Jessica held on to the banister to help herself stand. She clamped down to keep from buckling against the pain as she rested her weight upon her right ankle. She shifted onto her left and took a tentative step in Norrington's direction. He stared at her warily, and fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on your point-of-view) his sword was out of reach.

She stared back at him, taking in his shoulder bleeding profusely. The emotion that crossed her face made him frown slightly, and before he could speak, she reached for the hem of the men's shirt she wore.

"What in God's name are you doing?" he demanded.

He wanted her to explain? _Fuck that._ She tore away three strips from the bottom of her shirt before limping closer and dropping down in front of him. The shirt flirted dangerously with the top of her thighs, and he knew for certain because of the fight that she wore nothing underneath the pale cloth.

"Take off your coat," she ordered.

"I hardly have to—" His sentence ended abruptly on a loud curse as she yanked the jacket down his arm. The glare he gave her could have melted ice caps.

"Maybe you'll listen to me next time instead of arguing," she shot back. "I said, _Take off your coat._ Don't be a hardass." He grudgingly lowered his right sleeve and winced the entire time. She examined the wound, dimly wishing she had sewing implements. He would have a scar when it healed. _If I let the wanker live_ , she mused irritably. She tore a bit from her sleeves; she used a portion to clean the wound the best she could without having to get up on her hurt ankle and folded the other into a tight square. She wove the strips around the cloth square to keep it in place until the bleeding stopped.

"That hurt, damn you," he protested.

"Shut up," she snapped as she worked. The terse tone of her voice had his mouth setting into a line. "The least you can do when I'm trying to keep you from bleeding out." She tied the makeshift bandage and then gave it an extra yank for good measure. Norrington growled, and she quirked a wry brow at him. "Something bothering you, mate?"

He laid a heavy look upon her that indicated _everything_ was bothering him at the moment. She rolled her eyes and shifted away. _Wanker._ She hauled herself to her feet, favoring the left again, so she could check on her little sister. If she was dead then he was _definitely_ getting thrown over. Bad ankle or not.

 _"Hermana?"_

Relief washed over Jessica. Norrington didn't know how close he came to becoming fish food right then.

A confused Gretchen stumbled onto the scene holding her head. Frowning, she absorbed Jessica's torn nightshirt, and when her eyes shifted onto Norrington they widened before lowering to slits.

Jessica's arm blocked the younger woman as she flung herself toward her assailant. Margarita Tomas de Vargas, better known as Gretchen, at first glance appeared as tame as a newborn kitten. But ferocity was in her blood; when someone hurt her family, she became as feral as a lioness. _"Cálmate, hermanita,"_ Jessica murmured. _"Es bien ahora. Hemos luchado y ahora estamos tranquilos. Él no nos hará daño."_ _Calm down, little sister. It's okay now. We fought and now we are calm. He will not hurt us._ She punctuated that last statement with a pointed look at Norrington. Norrington returned it, tight-tipped.

A humming moment passed and Gretchen relaxed, allowing Jessica to lower her arm without her trying to get past her. _"Coge el arma, por favor?"_ _Grab his sword, please?_ Gretchen crossed the wood and swiped Norrington's sword with a petulant glare in his direction before coming back to her sister. "Take it down below. We're not too far from our destination, perhaps our stowaway can _behave_ until then."

Gretchen disappeared below, and Norrington sneered at Jessica despite his precarious position. "And allow me to guess. Our eventual destination involves a great deal of hedonistic indulgence to appease your depraved appetites."

She raised an eyebrow at him, making a decision all at once, one she hoped she would not regret. "Wrong, Mr. Norrington. We're going home."

* * *

 _ **To Be Continued...**_ _*maniacal laughter*_


	7. Returner

**Author's Notes:** _This one actually comes from CHIYC, but when I decided not to go with this ending, I set it aside and kept it, and now here we are. It's one of those sections I wrote to fuck with my own feels, and when I read it in its entirety, I had to put it away. But then I found it again and the rest is history._

 **WARNING:** _this **does** deal with death, and if that upsets you, you will need to skip this one, or at least the very beginning. I don't get particularly graphic, but the images invoked (well, for me anyways) feel extremely intense. _

_I think somewhere in this version of CHIYC Moira-Selene, aka Moira bka Selene, was supposed to make an appearance and so she is in this little side story. She appears in the latest chapter of TCW so I don't want to elaborate more than that.  
_

* * *

 **#returner** _is an alternate ending (or was supposed to be) to Catch Her if You Can; instead of being pardoned, Jessica's execution goes on as planned._

* * *

 _._

 _._

 _Destiny is everything_  
 _Reality's replaced you with_  
 _The biggest empty void I've ever had in life_  
 _Bet you say that I don't care_  
 _I bet you say that I don't even think of you_  
 _But God knows how wrong you are_

 _\- Backstreet Boys, "Set Adrift on Memory's Bliss"_

 _._

 _._

* * *

 _The Commodore's Wife: Alternate_

 **#returner**

Jessica stared ahead, olive gaze empty. The crowd watched her, captivated by her poise as the noose slipped around her slender neck. Claudia trembled, trying to hold back her emotion amid Mercer's merciless hold. Elizabeth gripped William's hand with a force that nearly crushed the bones of his fingers. Nicollette turned away to watch the graying Norrington, who with his injuries from the battle visibly struggled to remain on his feet. Even Governor Swann lowered his head and crossed himself as the trapdoor was released.

The noose tightened.

Claudia let out a bloodcurdling scream.

.

.

.

.

.

* * *

Men removed their hats for the swaying body. Women wept. Claudia's shrill, heartrending sobs were heard from outside of the fort, and the officers had a hard time keeping their eyes dry.

"Cut her down!" Claudia shrieked as she buckled to her knees. "For the love of all that's holy, cut her down!" Nicollette stepped over and wrapped her arms around her, pushing a surprised Mercer back several steps.

Distraught that his fiancée was making such a racket over the woman who had nearly bested him, Beckett growled. "Claudia—"

Norrington bellowed out the order. "Cut her down. You heard the lady. We have seen far enough." He swayed a bit himself but that did not diminish the authority in his tone. Officers scrambled to cut the body down while Moira frowned at Norrington.

"You need to sit down," Moira remarked.

Norrington balked. "I will not sit down while my men—"

"James!" Moira sliced through his declaration. "I am going to take you to your office right this instant. No arguments." When he opened his mouth to refuse, she added, "Please." Her eyes strayed to the scaffold and some of the color left her face. "I don't think I can…"

He exhaled slowly. "Very well." His eyes strayed to the heartbroken Claudia, who wept uncontrollably in Nicollette's arms. Moira placed his arm over her shoulders to carry some of his weight. Before they turned in tandem, he caught Nicollette looking at him. Unable to bear the sight of contempt in her eyes, he limped away with Moira and turned his back on the scene.

* * *

He worked in an attempt to distract himself from the general sorrow in the air but found himself weak against Elizabeth's weeping. She perched on a wooden stool, still in her dark-hued dress from earlier, shoulders shaking as he hammered scalding metal. Finally he gave up and tossed his tools aside. At this rate, he would would lop off a finger out of thoughtlessness.

"I'm sorry," Elizabeth managed when William crossed the room to embrace her. "I just..."

 _"Shh…"_ he soothed. He caressed her hair as she cried unabashedly into his shoulder. "I hardly think you are the only one that is finding it difficult to cope."

Elizabeth shook her head and she wiped at her face. "I keep telling myself that I know better, that the ends do not justify the means, but I had hoped..." She shuddered out another sob but attempted to fight it before it grew. "She deserved better. She saved our lives and they just killed her."

William exhaled as Elizabeth's tears began anew without the stormy sobbing. "But they didn't _want_ to, Elizabeth. No one wanted to see that noose around Captain Jay's neck. Well, maybe except for Cutler Beckett, but I half suspect that man doesn't have a heart quite frankly."

Elizabeth peered up at him in alarm as a thought occurred to her. "Claudia!" she exclaimed. She shook her head with anguish and purpose and rose to her feet. "We have to—"

William caught her with a little more difficulty than he was expecting. "Leave her be, darling. I know that you would like nothing more to ride in and save her from her grief, but she needs some time. She just witnessed her sister hung in front of her after trying to preserve her freedom. Being in her presence right now will be difficult for you both." He brushed her temple with a fingertip, moving back a curl that had come free. "Take a moment of peace, Elizabeth." Opposition flickered in her eyes (he expected it, for she would not be his Elizabeth if she had not reacted in some way) but he met it with softness. "For me?"

Elizabeth stared at him for a long time, emotions flitting across her features like fireflies. Finally she took a breath and nodded, averting his gaze. He released one of relief and embraced her again, burying his nose in her hair with the recollection of how close he came to losing her and sent up a silent _thank you_ to the late Captain for her costly sacrifice.

* * *

Catching up with work the following night relegated the clamor of the storm to the back of Norrington's mind. It had been more than a day since the execution of Captain Jay and he still found himself unsettled. Despite the knowledge that justice had been served, the victory felt hollow.

After Moira had taken him to his office, he had dismissed her. He found that her resemblance to her late sister troubled him. To her, he cited that it had been for her own recovery. Too emotional to see through his ruse, she had bid him farewell, and he had not heard from her since. He could not achieve the lack of remorse for the circumstances to care. He was human, despite his rigidity. And because he was human, he allowed himself a modicum of grief.

He was alone in his home, his butler having taken a short sojourn from his duties after he had returned. While the events nearly caused Jasper to cancel his long-made plans, Norrington had insisted. Again, it was an action that on the outside seemed to have a noble bent, but the original intent was far more self-centered than Norrington cared to admit. He knew this would wound him in a dark corner of himself, and he wanted no one to be witness as he worked through these slightly foreign feelings.

He registered a heaviness in his pocket as thunder rumbled in the distance. Wondering what he could have stashed there in the bustle of the day, he removed the object from his pocket. In the firelight, it gleamed faintly. He recognized it by its oval shape without having to turn it over to read the inscription. _So you know what you stand for. Love, Mama._

The memory of the last time he had seen her alive surfaced, without prompting. They had boarded her in the cells at Fort Charles for three days as preparations were made for her demise. She had accepted her sister to record her last words, and beyond that she had not spoken. She did not beg, did not plead for mercy. When the officers had removed her from behind bars, he had been there. The creak of the iron doors, the clank of chains, the scrape of her deliberate steps across stone. He recalled every sound.

Someone had asked what her last words would be. He could not clearly recollect whom because of what happened after, just that he was slightly mortified at the question. It seemed in bad taste. Not to mention he knew he would never forget her words. He wanted to. Wished he could. But some thoughtless officer or recorder had posed the question and opened the door for her last words to be branded on his brain.

 _Que será será_ , she had merely said. Her last words. _What will be will be._ In pure dichotomy of how she lived, she died without making waves, accepting her fate. He rested his face within his hands, fighting the torrent with everything he had.

And then, like a pebble dropped in a pond, a crash from the second floor of his house displaced the emotions and the memories, causing his hackles to rise.

His head lifted slowly, his ears perked up for every minute sound. Without comprehending it, he rose from the chair and crossed the study without making a noise.

Thunder crashed above as he walked into the hallway. Lightning followed shortly thereafter, indicating the storm was officially over his head. His observant eyes swept the entry way and the front door, spotting nothing out of place. Still unsettled, he went to the corner where his sword rested and slipped his fingers around the handle. The weight of it steadied him but suspicion blared alarms in his head. Something wasn't right.

He ascended the staircase deftly and quietly like a cat. He carefully sidestepped the floorboards that creaked once he reached the second floor. He glanced through the empty rooms with their doors ajar as Jasper had left them, finding nothing out of the ordinary. When he got to his bedroom door, he paused and eyed the flicker of light that should not have been there.

Someone is in there. He barely had the coherent thought, just the realization, as he sucked in a breath to brace himself and lifted his weapon.

He threw open the door and thrust his sword in the direction of a naked, dripping person...who currently had a Japanese blade pointed at him.

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* * *

So ready Norrington was for a battle that it took several seconds for him to realize _who it was standing in his midst_ —

"Captain?" Norrington cried incredulously.

The woman merely gazed. The intensity of the stare out of that pale face nearly seared him, and he almost looked away. However, his training would not allow him to look away from an armed person.

"I'm sorry," she finally said. Her voice was painfully hoarse; the sound of it along with the rope burn on her neck grated something inside of him. She lowered her familiar Japanese blade. Norrington's gaze remained glued on her bare, bruised figure.

"Damn, chief—could you _please_ put some clothes on now so I can see what the hell is going on?!"

Nicollette's voice broke the heavy silence cloaking the room. Norrington finally looked away from Jessica and to Nicollette, who was perched comfortably on his own _clean and_ _very personal_ bed wearing boy clothes and boots with her eyes covered. He glowered at her. She returned it with an impertinent look through the _V_ created by her middle and ring fingers.

"How the _hell_ did you get into my home?" Norrington demanded.

Nicollette only quirked a dark brow as if to indicate to him how that was a _really_ dumb question.

"We had no other place to go," Jessica informed him quietly as she pulled a shirt over her head.

"You—" His voice cracked and he swallowed. He almost uttered the phrase they were all going to be avoiding like a venereal disease for the near future: _you're supposed to be dead._ "You are not even supposed to _be_ here at this very moment. How am I going to explain the circumstance of a convicted pirate who was executed yesterday standing in my bedroom wearing my clothes?!"

"You will not have to because no one will know," Jessica assured him while she adjusted a pair of his breeches to fit her.

"I hardly think you could masquerade as a ghost," Norrington countered. "And let me further mention that you have put me in a very precarious position—"

"You're the only person I can trust!" Jessica snapped out. Norrington's eyes went wide as he froze. She pressed her lips together then sighed. "For whatever reason, I was put on the gallows for my purported crimes and the noose didn't kill me. By the law set forth by the Crown, I am a free woman." She tilted her head. "Not even you can deny that."

Norrington stepped forward until their toetips almost touched. Thunder rumbled again. Jessica did not even blink.

"I hope you intend on using this chance for extended life in such a manner that would lead away from breaking the law," Norrington said.

Jessica's mouth quirked on one side. "You know there is only one reason why I am still living."

On the bed, Nicollette sat up straighter at the flicker in Norrington's eyes.

"Don't be daft," Norrington countered fiercely. "If you believe ending the life of Cutler Beckett is the sum total of your life's meaning then you are not as shrewd as I once believed you were."

Eyes wide and silently screaming _oh shit oh fuck oh my damn_ , Nicollette put a hand over her galloping heart and tried to tiptoe out of the room.

Jessica narrowed her eyes at him. "You do not comprehend the utter destruction that man did to my family. If that is all I was created for, the sum total of my life's meaning, then so be it. I can be responsible for curing the world of such a blight and die a happy woman."

"Did you not _learn_ _from your mistakes_?" Norrington's voice was a booming crescendo that nearly had the tiptoeing Nicollette peeing on herself.

"Do you not understand I am not _under your bleeding thumb_?" Jessica's voice held the same forbidding tone.

Nicollette sighed in some parts relief, some parts consternation as she stepped into the safety of the unoccupied hallway. "They're worse than Fred and Ethel Mertz."

"If you would listen to me for one moment—"

"Do not fall under the misconception that you know what needs to happen just because you have an extra appendage!" Jessica interrupted. "If you cannot see the logic in what I am doing, then your lips can find my nonchalant backside."

Jessica walked toward the door, working a dark green jacket onto her lithe frame when he spoke. "I get it. Your sister is cursed by a force you cannot control. But that hardly gives you the reason—"

Jessica whipped around, eyes alight with an emotion Norrington could not read. Or perhaps did not want to read. "If you think the only reason I am going after Beckett is Claudia, you're not as shrewd as I thought _you_ were."

 _Silence._

Norrington's brows furrowed in confusion. "I do not quite grasp—"

"What do you not grasp?" Jessica demanded.

Nicollette stormed back into the room with a huge sigh, hands exasperatedly thrown in the air. "Oh for the _love_ of small children on winged unicorns—can't the two of you just admit you are in love with each other so we can go kick Cutler Beckett's ass?"

 _Silence._

"Great," Nicollette said sarcastically. "More silence." Shaking her head, she grabbed Jessica's arm and tugged her toward the exit. "We do not have time for this. Gotta go."

Jessica pulled her arm out of Nicollette's grasp but followed her out of Norrington's bedroom. As they descended the stairs, Jessica possessed the fierce expression of a woman on an unassailable mission. Nicollette figured they had sixteen seconds before Norrington recovered his senses and—

"Now wait just a moment! We haven't finished discussing the matter."

 _Damn it all. He did it in fifteen._ Nicollette fought the urge to smack her forehead. They were _nearly_ out the door.

Jessica paused but did not turn. "Nothing you do will talk me out of this, James."

After a moment's deliberation, Norrington sighed and lowered his head. Her uttering his first name—and not his rank or last name—usurped the power from his argument. "I believe I know you well enough to discern that being a hindrance would only hurt more than it would help."

Jessica placed her hand on the doorknob. Norrington placed his hand over hers. She peered up at him instinctively.

"But I have to say this before I allow you to walk over my threshold," Norrington continued. "If you care for me at all...you will contrive a way...to return."

Beside Jessica, Nicollette muttered, "Damn..." in apparent wonder. He could be stuffy and stern, and at times she was pretty sure he had a steel rod up his ass, but that Norrington had a way with words when it came to the sticking point.

Jessica turned toward him. Nicollette watched as the two stared at each other wordlessly, feeling awkward that she witnessed this moment. As Jessica shifted closer, Nicollette averted her eyes. She barely heard the whisper that fluttered at Norrington's ear. A couple of seconds later, Jessica broke away abruptly and opened the door. Nicollette ducked around him, thought better of it and patted him on the shoulder awkwardly before following the Captain.

When he stared at her retreating back under the torrent of rain, he realized the place where she had rested her cheek on his was damp.


	8. Glimpse

**#glimpse** _has been rolling around in my head awhile, and it's sort of weird to admit that this is the first one of these to come out in one sitting. This scene is alluded to in "James/Jessica" but I hadn't gotten around to write it until just now. Like literally now. LOL, that will probably not happen again._

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 _I could say that I don't care_  
 _But the truth is I'd follow you anywhere_  
 _I've been waiting such a long, long time_  
 _Don't you dare change your mind_

 _\- Alexz Johnson, "Don't You Dare"_

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* * *

 _The Commodore's Wife: Alternate_

 **#glimpse**

It took him nearly a week to build up the courage to go to the Vargas house.

After dealing with the violent and polarized reaction to Captain Jay's pardon, Norrington found that he could not ignore the nagging presence of guilt in his head. Ever since that day in his office, he and Claudia Vargas had not spoken. She deliberately avoided him, spending an immense amount of time with Elizabeth. He had spied them about town, and it had appeared Elizabeth spent an undue amount of time trying to cheer her up. He had kept his distance out of respect, but now he realized that he owed her an apology.

Standing on the porch, Norrington raised his fist to knock and felt the slightest hesitation. He steeled his resolve and rapped on the wood twice.

Several moments later, the door opened and a blonde appeared in a gown in a pale green hue. Her cornflower blue eyes took in his presence with a frown as her mind computed who he was, and finally she gave him a welcoming smile.

"Commodore Norrington," Cynthia Dunne said in way of greeting. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

At that moment, the faint strains of notes from a violin reached them and stole Norrington's attention. The wailing notes recalled a more tumultuous time, ruins and wreckage of ships, of a woman facing a dragon with nothing more than her blade. Cynthia's eyebrows furrowed at the Commodore's expression of distraction, of a man drowning in memories.

"Commodore?" she attempted. The sound of her voice jolted him from his reverie and he looked at her with the barest hint of contrition.

"Miss Dunne, my apologies," he said. "I was hoping I could speak with your cousin. Is she…occupied?"

"She is merely practicing," Cynthia assured him. She stepped back to allow him to pass over the threshold. "Come inside, Commodore. I am sure she would not mind the interruption."

Norrington walked inside and Cynthia closed the door behind him. He realized this was the first time he had been inside Claudia's home. He could see her influence in the colors she had chosen, in the adornments she had carefully picked. Elegant and classy without being austere or opulent. In the stillness, the violin music gave the air serenity.

The music increased in volume as they reached the back of the house. Cynthia led him to a room and paused in the doorway. He stopped beside her and beheld the sight within.

A vision in yellow amid the room of aqua and turquoise, Claudia calmly perched on a stool. The spill of her dark hair contrasted with the happy hue and her movements as she glided the bow over the strings whispered majesty. He dimly recalled a time when he had considered pursuing her romantically. He appreciated her beauty, her aptitude. And yet now it failed to dazzle him in the way it had before. He didn't want to think about why.

She finished a note and then lowered her arms. She turned toward them a quizzical look in her eye. She placed the violin and bow in her place as she stood and squared her small shoulders. She smoothed out the lines of her face and regarded her guest coolly.

"Commodore Norrington," Claudia said by way of greeting, though her tone had not been as genial as Cynthia when she had uttered the same words. "It has been quite some time since you and I have spoken."

Cynthia placed an encouraging hand on his shoulder and raised her eyebrows to urge him into the room. He gave her a tiny nod and she slipped away quietly. Norrington walked into the room, hands clasped behind his back and thinking upon his next words.

"It was my conscience that led me here," Norrington admitted. Bemusement flitted across Claudia's features. "I felt, Miss Vargas, that I…I owe you an apology."

Her eyebrows lifted but when she said nothing he felt that he should continue. "I…have a devotion to my principles that allow no room for debate, and this predicament has shown me that has been a miscalculation of mine, especially in regards to…" He trailed off, not sure how to refer to the former Captain.

"My sister?" Claudia finished. She saw something glimmer in his eyes, a modicum of emotion, before he stored it away, and it made her soften. "Norrington, my sister means a great deal to me. My intent was not to offend you. I was merely fighting for her as she has fought for me all of these years." She paused a beat before continuing. "However, that was hardly any reason for my behavior towards you."

It was Norrington's turn to be surprised. "Miss Vargas—"

She gave a sudden sigh and smiled briefly. "Please, Commodore. Please do not hide behind the veneer of breeding. We are well past that now. When you call me Miss Vargas, it makes me think of my late grandmother, and…" She glanced down at the ground. "It is bittersweet."

He had a feeling of _déjà vu_ , as they'd had a form of this exchange before. "If you insist. Miss Claudia."

"Yes, as it was before." She neared and he expected to feel a stirring at her proximity but instead he felt nothing. "I also…would like to apologize for the subterfuge that landed you amidst the chaos of our battle. I am relieved that the tumult had its end in a manner that ensured the best for those embroiled in it." She peered at him meaningfully. "There were some of us that were concerned of the consequences for those in the line of fire, so speak."

"My…role in all of this took on a great transformation that even I had not foreseen at the outset," Norrington remarked. "I am still a true believer that the end does not always justify the means, but I have a deeper understanding of why such means were taken. As for my presence, we cannot be sorry for the path upon which fate places us but I appreciate your concern."

Claudia suppressed a smile. "But I wasn't the one concerned, Commodore."

That hovered in the air between them for a long while. He recalled that moment aboard the _Dauntless_ , her last words to him before she climbed up to the crow's nest and jumped off to save them all, and realized who had been the person in question. That filled him with an emotion he did not want to identify.

Something must have shown on his face because Claudia then said, "Would you like to see her?"

Not even realizing that he had acquiesced, he followed Claudia out of the room, down the hall and up the stairs. They passed Cynthia on the landing and she looked at Claudia inquisitively. Claudia gave her a steady look and ventured past, down the hall.

"I'm sure you have noticed that it has been quiet, Commodore," Claudia asserted in a low tone.

Now that she pointed it out, that stillness did begin to stick out to him. Not to mention, he knew who was here, and he would have expected her to make an appearance. Or, some deep recess of him hoped that she would have. _But I wasn't the one concerned, Commodore._

"Gretchen and Samantha are occupied elsewhere. And Jessica…" Claudia paused at a door and opened it carefully. She peered up at him as the contents of the room revealed themselves.

She allowed him a moment to absorb it before speaking. The room was very Spartan, lacking in frills and knickknacks. In front of the window stood the bed, occupied by a prone form. For a second Norrington couldn't recognize the person sleeping there but his mind put her features together and realization washed over him.

She had been pale when she had been released, but her skin seemed sallow and clammy. Her lips were even blanched of color. Her hair was damp with sweat and lay limply on her pillow. One of them had pulled the blanket up to her chest and he watched to spot its rise. Coupled with the last images he had of her of her in her cell, trying to keep her composure, and out on Claudia's lawn, eyes wild and weapon in hand, this one of her very ill and bed-ridden burdened his heart.

"She fell ill shortly after she was released," Claudia told him. "The doctor thinks perhaps she merely could not keep up the pretense of being resilient any longer since there was no need." She looked at her sister. "She had lost a great deal of weight while at Fort Charles and was weaker than I have ever seen her when I brought her home. She has been…sleeping most of this time. Hopefully she will be up and around soon."

"Perhaps now it is your turn to care for her as she has cared for you all."

"It is the least I can offer her." Claudia looked at him sidelong and waited until he looked at her. "I will tell her that you came by, Commodore Norrington."

Norrington wondered what she would do when Claudia told her. He tried not to imagine their next meeting; it was too dangerous and after the events of those months previous, he momentarily found himself weary of peril. Instead of acknowledging the comment, he said, "I feel that I have used too much of your time already, Miss Claudia. Perhaps I should allow you to get back to your practicing."

"It is perfectly fine, Commodore," she assured him. "I needed the break and I…" She stole a glance at her sister and he spied her worry. She was not as deft at concealing it as she would have liked. "Well, I suppose you have your duties to return to so we shall adjourn on this note."

When they were at the door several moments later, she added, "Commodore Norrington, please do not be a stranger. I know that things did not progress in a certain way, but that does not mean we cannot be friends."

A small, genuine smile broke out onto his face. "Of course, Miss Claudia." They bade each other goodbye, and Claudia opened the door. He stepped out onto her porch feeling better that their acquaintance had been mended.

However, as the memory of Jessica's bed-ridden form arose in his mind, his sentiments went to war with each other. The sight of her had done him little good, only serving to churn up feelings he could not handle or comprehend. Taking a deep breath he stepped out onto the sun and forced himself to think of work.

A couple of steps away from Claudia's porch steps he felt a prickling on the back of his neck. His sixth sense told him someone was watching. His eyes swept the expanse, finding nothing out of the ordinary. Then he turned, slowly.

Claudia's house appeared as if it had when he had first approached it. He even caught the faint sound of Claudia playing from this distance. He scanned the first floor, then the second. And his assessing gaze stopped at her window.

It was hard to tell but it seemed a person was standing in that second-story window, peering down at him. He could not spy the person's features, but they appeared as pale as the white curtain.

He blinked, lips parted, and the curtain moved back into place as if nothing had happened.

He stared at that motionless curtain for a long while, turning over the possibilities of who had been looking at him in his head. Could she have…? No she had been sleeping. But then again, he knew how good of an actress Jessica Thomas was. But then the question became…why didn't she make her presence known if she knew he was there?

The large bell at the church rang and jerked him from his musing. He chided himself for his folly and walked away.


	9. Rites

**#rites** _had originally been a scene from "Twins" but when I was editing the chapter I had to remove it because it was already too long. It's also Helen's first meeting with James, and I really liked the way they interact, which provides more basis for him wanting to protect her so strongly during the fire scene._

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 _osanai kioku no kata sumi ni_  
 _atatakai basho ga aru soushi_  
 _hoshi tachi ga hanasu mirai ga_  
 _itsumo kagayaite ita  
so shine_

 _\- BoA, "Every Heart"*_

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* * *

 _The Commodore's Wife : Alternate_

 **#rites**

A few nights later, Groves rushed into his office as Norrington was tidying up to leave bearing a note.

Norrington frowned as Groves paused in front of his desk to catch his breath. "Lieutenant, is there something amiss?"

"I don't believe so, sir. This came for you." Groves offered the folded paper. At Norrington's blank look, he added, "From the Captain."

 _From the Captain._ Dread skimming up his spine, he accepted the folded paper. After reading the sole line, bemusement took over his features. He looked up at Groves and quietly excused himself to leave.

* * *

Before he registered the passage of time it had taken to arrive from Fort Charles, he stood just inside the gate surrounding Gaia House, wondering why he had been summoned there.

Throughout his healing, he had heard varying accounts of Elizabeth Swann Turner's maiden philanthropic venture; Jessica had mentioned it offhand in her letters to him while he had gone, but certain details had been lacking. Some panned it as the fleeting fixation of a mildly rebellious Governor's daughter. Others lauded her as a saintly matriarch. What those on both extremes failed to comprehend was that Elizabeth Swann, like the women assisting her with the project, at the core of her, had been a child without a mother.

The front door opened and the sound of chattering and laughter spilled out into the night. A little boy, about nine years old, dashed down the steps and Samantha called out for him to slow down as she emerged from inside. Beside her, Cynthia held an excited Emma in her arms and yelped as six more dashed past her.

The rest of the group appeared from the house, the youthful energy filling the air. Elizabeth flanked the group with Jessica beside her. They seemed in the throes of a serious conversation with Elizabeth speaking and Jessica nodding periodically. She swept the yard with her gaze, looking for something. Or someone.

Her eyes rested on him and he realized for whom she had been searching.

"Evening, Commodore," Samantha greeted him as she passed. "Glad you could make it."

 _Glad you could make it?_ "Good evening," he returned with a note of puzzlement.

Jessica excused herself from Elizabeth and wove her way through the group. She was waylaid by more than a few of the children who offered hugs. Norrington watched her, tenderness welling up in him. Despite her admitted reservations toward motherhood, she returned their hugs and thanked them with genuine ease. An idea began to brim in Norrington's head, but it hadn't fully blossomed by the time Jessica paused in front of him.

She stared up at him, seemingly at a loss for words. Finally she opened with, "Thank you for coming. I apologize for the short notice but…"

"What's going on? Why was my presence requested?"

When he posed these questions aloud to his wife, his tone imbued with bemusement and a hint of irritation, she surprised him by giving him a look that revealed her unease. "It just sort of happened. The children had an idea to have a ceremony of sorts—"

Norrington's expression indicated he was utterly lost. He waved his hand in an impatient gesture. "Jessica, start at the beginning. What ceremony?"

Jessica shuddered out a breath and looked down for a moment. Claudia called for the children to form three lines of five and there was a bit of shuffling. Once they had achieved the formation Claudia wanted, Samantha opened the gate and they filed out around them. When Jessica lifted her eyes, they were slightly damp. "Claudia and Elizabeth told the children…about Danie. They…heard that I wasn't doing well and wanted to do something about it." She lifted a hand with the intent to touch him but laid it on her stomach instead. He witnessed the gesture and softened, realizing how moved she was. "I asked them…to wait on you. Because…"

She trailed off but he glimpsed the rest of the admission in her eyes. _Because I needed you here._ He nodded his head softly. "No need to explain." He did touch her then, gesturing ahead and placing a hand on her arm. "After you, Captain?"

Wordlessly, she turned and went through the gate after everyone else.

* * *

The breeze ruffled his cravat as they walked. The journey to their final destination took nearly twenty minutes. No one would tell him where they were headed at first. He had a hunch he would not like it since his wife had stiffened when they mentioned leaving but did not press the issue until they were alone for a moment when the group had gone ahead.

He had protested when she told him, but she insisted. _It's different this time. Perhaps it will be very cathartic. Trust me?_

So because he loved her, he did.

Will, Kaneshi and Gretchen had gone ahead with the supplies and met them at the bluff. Elizabeth had explained over dinner that the aim of their exercise was to honor someone they had lost in their past; once the children had learned that Jessica had not been able to bury her sister they had come up with idea of releasing sky lanterns to bless her spirit on the way to its new home. Cynthia had come up with the idea to dedicate their lantern to someone special in their own lives. They had decorated the special, lightweight paper over a few days, and when the paint dried Samantha, Gretchen and Claudia had constructed the lanterns.

He and his wife trailed the group, so when they finally made it up the hill, Gretchen and Will were passing out the lanterns. As the children admired each other's artwork and thanked the trio who had taken then time to secure the paper on the frames, Shannon broke away and ran toward her aunt.

"Auntie Jessie! Auntie Jessie! You have to come see!" she exclaimed in a hushed tone. Before Jessica could respond, the girl grabbed her hand and pulled her along. She threw a helpless look over her shoulder at her husband before stumbling away.

"For the record, I opposed the location," said a deep voice from his left. Norrington turned his head to find Kaneshi standing beside him grimly taking in the scene in their midst. Norrington pursed his mouth together in a line as Shannon chattered about her lantern. Jessica nodded and gave her a hug and he felt himself softening at the sight. "Maybe this will be good for her." He looked at the Commodore askance. "Will you be all right?"

"Still deciding," Norrington admitted.

At that moment, Helen King ran up to them, with Abigail in tow. Her auburn curls bounced on her shoulders as she came to a sudden stop. His first impression of the ten-year-old, clad in boy's clothes, was of a tough, no-nonsense girl toughened by life as an orphan. When Abigail gave them a tiny curtsy, he observed her wonder at the gesture, so she was not without some appreciation for refinement. She shook it off with a shrug and turned back to address him.

"My mate Abigail says you're her uncle," Helen said in way of greeting. She executed a bow that had Kaneshi stifling a smile. "Helen J. King. Nice to meetcha."

Norrington glanced in Abigail's direction and found that the girl, serene by the standard of children her age, staring at him expectantly. She had her hands behind her back but the slight bounce she gave in anxiety gave her away. "Likewise, Miss King."

When it fell awkwardly silent, Abigail gave her friend a not-so-subtle nudge. Helen fumed at her and she raised her eyebrows. When Helen sighed and rolled her eyes, the two men shared a glance. If they wondered what the Captain was like as a child, Helen King was an uncanny representation.

"Right then," she grumbled. "Guess we might as well." She thrust out a lantern in both hands. "Here," she said hastily.

 _Pause._

"They're yours," Helen continued. Still nothing. She raised her eyebrows, too. "To fly?"

Understanding slammed into them both at the same time. "Oh!" Norrington and Kaneshi exclaimed in unison and took Helen's offering. Moments later, Jessica and Shannon joined them. Shannon elbowed her way between her sister and Helen, blasting the latter with a glare. None of the adults noticed; Kaneshi was turning his lantern in his hand to get a full view of the kaleidoscopic color scheme. Norrington examined his and went noticeably still. Jessica, candle in one hand, stopped beside her husband.

A safe distance from the edge, Elizabeth clapped her hands to get everyone's attention. All conversation quieted and everyone shifted to stare at her. Jessica, however, stared at Norrington with the feeling that something was amiss.

"Does everyone have a lantern?" Elizabeth asked the group.

As the group responded with a nearly unanimous affirmation, Jessica realized she wasn't going to receive a verbal response from Norrington so she leaned over to examine the lantern that rendered him speechless.

"First and foremost, I would like to thank our guests for joining us this evening. I would also like to thank Samantha, Gretchen and Claudia for constructing these beautiful lanterns for us. The artwork is amazing, everyone. You should be very proud of yourselves."

Realization dawned at that moment and Jessica gazed at him sharply in shock. A fresh wave of sorrow filled her heart and she had to look away. Steeling herself against the urge to shroud herself in her grief, she forced herself to look at him. Norrington's jaw was clenched but outwardly he showed no other reaction. She laced her fingers with his. Emotion flickered in his eyes and slowly he peered down at her.

Aside, Helen watched them fascinated with their silent communication. Pulled by a influence she could not name, she stepped away from Shannon and Abigail and toward the Captain and Commodore. She hovered at Jessica's side, waiting for acknowledgement. As Elizabeth continued her speech, a eulogy of sorts of the late first mate of the _Bloody Diamond_ , Norrington's gaze shifted ever so slightly to rest upon the auburn-haired child. Jessica spied the shift and turned.

Helen concentrated for a long moment, attempting to find the right words to explain why she had decorated the lantern as she had. A lump formed in her throat, and she found speaking problematic. Jessica's mouth curved upward reassuringly and she placed a free hand on Helen's shoulder. _It's all right._

Helen held the lantern as Norrington supplied the flame. Beside them Kaneshi lit Abigail and Shannon's lanterns. The breeze fluttered to and fro for a few moments while the others lit their lanterns.

And then, as the breeze strengthened once again, Elizabeth told them to release the lanterns.

The expanse was quiet with awe as the lanterns, propelled by the wind, drifted upward and away. Norrington and Jessica watched Helen's, the simple outline of a mother and child painted in different stages of life, as it floated along with the others. She squeezed his hand and gripped Helen's shoulder, an overwhelming sense of kinship mingling with her grief. At the center of everything they had become, they were all the same: children without a mother here with them on Earth.

"Did that help?" he asked softly.

She closed her eyes with the image of 25 lanterns drifting toward the sky trapped in her mind's eye. The wind fluttered her hair and she exhaled, feeling less of an ache from her chest. It was still there, it would always be there. But she could manage it now.

She lifted her lids and responded, "Yes. It did."

* * *

 ***"Every Heart" transliteration and translation not mine.**

 _Memories of everything has settled,_  
 _This is a warm place to be._  
 _The stars separate us from the future,_  
 _We are always so brilliant,_  
 _So shine._


	10. Vulnerability

**Author's Notes:** _So I happen to love the modern installments. I realized that I have spent a really long time (okay not forever, maybe a year) hanging out in the 18th century and I am still not entirely comfortable with it._

 _I actually had considered expanding this and its former installment into a fic, a modern rendering of the Curse of the Black Pearl, but I decided not to. I would never finish it LOL. So on that note, enjoy this._

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 **#vulnerability** _is from the_ **#squadgoals** _arc. The Lieutenants have a trying evening and lean on one another. This takes place several months after_ **#squadgoals** _._

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 _I will go where you lead_  
 _Always there in time of need_  
 _And when I lose my will_  
 _You'll be there to push me up the hill_  
 _There's no, no looking back for us_  
 _We got love sure 'nough, that's enough_  
 _You're all, you're all I need to get by_

 _\- Marvin Gaye & Tammi Terrell, "You're All I Need to Get By"_

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* * *

 _The Commodore's Wife: Alternate_

 **#vulnerability**

It was like being thrown back into time. Suddenly it was four years ago and she was staring her thirtieth birthday in the face again, battling back feelings of inadequacy and failure. She had just made lieutenant, but the glances, the whispers made her feel like the promotion wasn't enough. _You could be like everyone else, you know._

 _Is it so wonderful being like them?_

She forced herself back into the present and words from her mirthless mouth. "Hello, Lawrence."

The blond man smiled at her politely. "You look…well," he said, pausing long enough between the words long enough to make her believe he feigned the sentiment. She did not look well at all. "Puerto Royal must be treating you well enough. Still at the department?"

Yes, work. She could speak of work until her face went blue. "Yes. They have me on an elite squad here. The transfer went smoothly, considering the circumstances." She flicked a glance at the woman, sensing that she had seen her before. Where?

"That's great," Lawrence stated. He shifted imperceptibly, and the woman rubbed the underside of his forearm. A trained observer, Jessica followed the movement, noting the twinkle on her ring finger, then looked up into the woman's eyes. Realization hit her like a wooden beam.

This had been the same woman she'd caught him with their living room several months ago.

The words came out before she could stop them, stem the bitterness before it spilled from her lips. "I suppose I owe you congratulations."

Lawrence blinked at her in surprise; his fiancée preened at the observation. When he recovered, he smiled again, and in that smile, Jessica discerned his happiness. The purity of it stole her breath. "Thank you. That means a great deal."

She should have seen it coming. There was no way he could get away without putting her down.

"Listen, I hope we can be friends..."

 _It'll be a cold day in hell, Mr. Williams._

"...because at the end of the day, we had that first..."

 _Oh, is **that** what that was?_

"...you...just weren't suited for this."

 _ **Bam.** _ There it was. The barb. Something flashed in Jessica's eyes, and Cassandra spotted it from the other side of the restaurant. She hastily excused herself and crossed the floor with lighting speed despite her tall heels. Before Jessica could form a response, Cassandra grabbed her cousin with a quick greeting and goodbye, and whisked her to the back of the restaurant where she could recover.

And not a moment too soon. Cassandra sped the fury and grief in Jessica's olive eyes. Her face crumpled and she doubled over as if hit in the solar plexus.

"Shit," she breathed. "God _dammit_ Cassandra."

She started forward, reaching out to touch her shoulder. "Jess..."

Jessica stood, shaking her head vigorously. 'No, I don't want to talk about it. I just want to go."

Cassandra sighed. "You need to calm down. But you won't listen to me will you?" Jessica said nothing. The tears shimmering spoke well enough. "Fine. Go out the back. But if you die in a horrible car crash I will never forgive you."

* * *

 _You...just weren't suited for this._

 _Asshole. Wanker. Muthafucker._

She entered her house and slammed the door, flinging her keys aside with an unabashed force. She heard them clatter to the ground clamorously, and the sound pleased her in a deep, dark crevice of her heart. She wanted to break things. She wanted to tear and rip and chew through glass. She wanted to set fire to everything and watch herself turn into ashes.

She left her coat in the floor of the foyer and stormed into the kitchen. She went for her liquor cabinet and took out bottles. She didn't peer at the labels. What they were wouldn't matter. She didn't bother grabbing a glass. She spun the cap off the first and tipped up the bottom, gulping like she was starved. She didn't feel anything until the steady stream of liquor stopped.

Her cell phone buzzed in her pocket as the liquid began to burn her esophagus. Growling low in her throat, she unearthed it from the back of her jeans and glared at the screen. "What in the bloody hell?" she snarled aloud. But her ire dimmed a bit as she comprehended the name on her caller ID. _Norrington._

She sighed, wondering what in the world he wanted. The last time she'd seen him, he'd been with his precious Elizabeth, and she'd had the feeling that mountain lions couldn't tear them apart. She hoped he wasn't calling to ask her to get tampons for his girlfriend again. _That_ had been exasperating.

"Thomas," she said tersely.

"Lieutenant?"

The subdued and shaky tone of her partner's voice sparked a bit of confusion. "Norrington?"

"If this is a bad time—"

She massaged the bridge of her nose. "It's not the best time, Lieutenant. What's up?"

"I'm…sorry for the intrusion, but I…find myself in need of a…comrade."

Dread washed cold over her volatile emotions. James Norrington was an island of his own, and for him to ask for help or display need meant something ominous indeed. _Shit. **Shit.**_ "Where are you? Dammit, James, what is going on?"

Outside, her neighbor's dog started barking. She frowned as she heard a door open and slam, and the barking came through the earpiece of her cell. "I just jumped behind the wheel and drove…I—I had to leave…and found myself here…in your driveway…"

Surprised at her speed, she rushed from the kitchen and back into the foyer. She threw open the door, and the sight made the hand holding the phone drop to her side.

Her partner, her squad leader, stood out on her doorstep with his phone to his left ear. He still wore the same slacks and sweater from earlier. His brown hair appeared disheveled and flat for his standards. But it was his face that gave her pause.

She stared at him as her stormy feelings receded into the background. The hurricane of emotion she had entered her house upon had turned into a rain shower within a matter of heartbeats. Just at the look on his face.

"What happened?" she managed.

He lowered his hand as swiped across the screen to end the call. With downcast eyes, he strode into her house wordlessly and past her. Reeling from the shock, she secured her front door and turned to follow him into her living room. She reached the doorway in time to see him flop down to the couch. She took a couple of hesitant steps forward, not sure what to do with the man in her midst. He shifted forward and put his head in his hands. He mumbled something, but she could not hear it.

"What did you say?" she prompted, coming forward.

He took his hands away but didn't meet her eyes. He bellowed, _"I said, Elizabeth left me. Did you hear it that time?"_

As if there hadn't been enough surprises for the evening. Jessica stared at him dumbly as the information sank into her foggy brain.

"But...but..." She threw her hands up helplessly. "Why?"

His voice was much lower and laden with despondency when he responded. "She said that she possessed feelings for someone else."

Mouth agape, she crossed the room and lowered herself to the spot next to him. She was breathless with disbelief. "James, did she...?"

"No. She promised it had not gotten that far but..." He blinked rapidly and she pressed her lips together as she realized he was fighting tears. "She said she could not continue much longer without severing this relationship first. She...wanted to spare me in that regard but it still feels like I have been betrayed."

 _ **"Stop,"**_ she suddenly interrupted.

He peered at her in surprise. "What?"

Unable to sit still, she leapt to her feet and began to pace. "You heard me. **Stop. _It._** This whole time, the whole fucking time you've had her, you've had Elizabeth Swann on a bloody pedestal, as if she could do no wrong." She whirled on him, eyes wild. His entire countenance had gone still with astonishment and fear, like a child who had poked a tigress and waited for her to go for the jugular. "Haven't you ever thought about how this must be for her? This fucking charade of being your girlfriend and accepting the proposal to be your wife. Living without a mother in the public eye where every move she makes is scrutinized, and everyone's wondering what she's going to do next. And then they're telling her that none of her thoughts and desires count unless she's on some man's arm to validate her existence." He paled as she grew redder and redder. "When she does find the right man he seems perfect until he ends up fucking some woman on your coffee table..."

He rose to his feet as the first of her tears fell. "And then he moves on and have the life he promised you would have and then you find yourself wondering if you were good enough in the first place…"

As she had when she had glimpsed his anguish, he found himself slackened and weakened up against her pain. He had seen her swear, he had seen her rant. He had seen her furious enough to maim with her bare hands, but never, never ever seen her cry.

When the sobs overtook her words, she turned away, ashamed. She had her back to him, but he could see her shoulders shaking.

 _What the hell is going on?_ "Jess?"

She shook her head and walked out of the room. He felt her footfalls as she ascended the stairs, heard a door open upstairs and his partner's muffled sobbing. Perplexed, he ventured upstairs.

He found her sitting in front of her bed on the carpet. He hovered in the doorway waiting for permission. She looked up at him, and he took a handkerchief from his pocket. He offered it, but she took his wrist instead, guiding him to the spot next to her. He lowered himself next to her and without thinking wrapped his arm around her. She snuggled closer for comfort, placing the hand that clutched the handkerchief on his thigh.

He listened as she tried to calm her breathing. "I'm sorry," she whispered. He wished that he could reassure her that it had been all right, but the words still stung. She must have felt his hesitation because she shifted to gaze at him. Her face had been ravaged by tears, and as she took in his face she hastily wiped her eyes. "I…" She sniffled. "You didn't deserve that. You came to me because you needed a comforting shoulder and I literally went apeshit on you."

He regarded her with observant eyes. "It appears you needed a comforting shoulder as well." She averted his gaze, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear and nodding. "What happened, Jessica?"

 _You...just weren't suited for this._ Her stomach rolled at the memory. She waved it away. "I need a drink."

* * *

Ten minutes later they sat on the carpet in front of her couch, armed with shot glasses and tequila. She filled the glasses to the brim and lifted them with a steady hand. He took one. The duo nodded at one another silently and then downed the amber liquor.

She lowered her glass with a _clang_ and reached for the bottle. He reached out and grabbed her wrist firmly, just enough to get her attention. She stared at him in shock.

"Easy, _Tigresa_ ," he murmured in warning.

Sighing, she put the bottle down. "I suppose we have all night. Might as well not rush the process." At the quirk of his brow, she added, "If you think I am going to allow you behind the wheel in your state, you have gone completely mental."

"Is there a reason why you are stalling? Report, Lieutenant." He sounded almost nearly normal. She felt the almost welcome urge to roll her eyes at him. He was slightly pacified by the faint gleam of insolence in her eyes.

"After you and I parted ways, I had dinner with Captain Richardson-Cain to thank her for her assistance when I encountered my ex-husband…and his pregnant fiancée."

She allowed those words to linger in the air for a long moment as he computed this. For a great deal of time, she had avoided any mention of her ex-husband, but her partner could sense that that separation had been bloody and heinous. Based on what Naomi had told him, one of their issues had been Jessica's dedication to her work amid Lawrence's desire for children. The Gingrich case had stripped her of more than her old home and position.

After a few minutes of silence, he said simply, "I'm sorry." He picked up the bottle and poured them both another shot. "You deserve better. Honestly." He tipped up his glass.

"And so do you, James."

He nearly choked. He cleared his throat as she swallowed tequila. "I don't know if I would venture as far to say that. Perhaps I merely want the chance that everyone gets. Elizabeth, despite what you may think of her at present, did not mistreat me."

"I know." He poured more to drink for them both. She could sense that while the tequila made him more candid that he still felt uneasy talking about his private life. "She loves you. It may not be the kind of love that ignites fires or radiates across a room, but it's there. And someday, once the rawness fades, the friendship you two were supposed to have will develop."

He chuckled sardonically. "Friendship. What bollocks." He gulped down the contents of his glass. "So tell me, Lieutenant. You're an intelligent and learned woman. What do I have to progress into husband territory?"

Tiredly, she lifted a shoulder. "I don't know. The same thing I would have to do to be wife material, I suppose. If I figure it out, you will be the second to know." She leaned against the front of the couch, head tilted toward him as she stared straight ahead. Her hair brushed his shoulder and he felt a strange sensation in his chest. They fell into a compatible silence as the liquor wove its way through their veins. The room softened, the sharp edges of their emotions dulled until the comfort and familiarity of being with one another supplanted the hurt and the pain. Her head tilted further downward until it rested upon his shoulder. Exhaling, he rested his cheek upon the top of her head and closed his eyes.

"What do you want, James?" she asked suddenly.

His lids lifted fractionally. "What do you mean?"

"Out of your auto insurance," she quipped wryly. He fought an eyeroll as she amended, "From the person you want to spend the rest of your life with, silly. What do you want? From her?"

After a beat: "To be my anchor."

"Pull you back from the edge?"

His mouth twitched. "I was envisioning someone to draw me home more than a giant emotional hook as _your_ comment suggests."

Partly because of the liquor, she let out a cackle. As she shifted away giggling, he shook his head in consternation. Her head flopped onto the couch cushion as she caught her breath. "Are you sure you can hold your liquor, Lieutenant?"

"Oh trust me, I can hold my liquor. I partied with the best of them at university and I am not afraid to demonstrate." She picked up the bottle and poured them both a portion. "Cheers to us, Lieutenant. Enjoying the single life."

They clinked their shot glasses and downed the liquid in a single gulp.

* * *

He awoke first. Normally, he would have been rising for his morning workout before heading into the bull pen so habit had him awakening as the gray light of dawn filled her living room. It took several seconds to assess his current state; he and his partner had fallen asleep on her couch sometime after midnight, inhibitions lowered by the tequila shots they'd imbibed. Much to his relief, they were still clothed and in a reasonably chaste position. His arms were wrapped around her and rested at the small of her back. Her left hand was trapped under him while her right rested upon his heart.

He groaned at the light pounding of his head. They had not gone overboard with their consumption but it had been enough to warrant the small headache. He also felt the urge to urinate grow sharper as his awareness deepened. He shifted carefully, hoping not to awaken her. Her peaceful face captivated him, lending him a view of her that belied the fierceness she exuded when awake. Her brow furrowed when he slid from under her but she did not awaken.

He found the bathroom and after relieving himself, he returned to the living room. She still slept. He debated whether or not to awaken her; they had discussed but had not made plans for the day as the rescue and recovery of Elizabeth had taken precedence.

On the coffee table, amid the evidence of their drinking binge, his phone buzzed, signaling an incoming message.

Reluctantly he reached out and grasped the phone. He tapped in the lock code and checked his notifications. _One new email from Elizabeth Swann_.

He stared at the screen, torn between warring sentiments. _It wasn't my intention to break your heart, James._ Her words echoed through his mind, coupled with a growing pit in the bottom of his stomach.

He must have made a noise, somehow. _There was no way that_ , he mused when his partner rose to a sitting position and plucked the phone from his hand, _she would have known instinctively. None._

He frowned as she swung her legs onto the ground and stood. Even fresh from slumber she was quick and had crossed the room in a short length of time. "Give me my phone back."

She turned after a long pause, shaking her head. "You can't read this now."

"You are in no place to determine that for me, Lieutenant."

"Bullshit," she said simply. "I call bullshit on that. You know why? Because I can't have you carrying Elizabeth Swann through the door when it's our asses on the line. I can't have you carrying her on your shoulder when we need you. When _I_ need you." She flung the phone at him and he barely caught it. "So if you're willing to drag yourself down to the mire, go ahead. But you're on your own. Because I can't watch you do that." Hurt crossed his features and she sighed. "I will always be at your back, James. But I will not let you carve out your own heart before my very eyes."

With that, she turned and stalked out of the room. He sat there, immobile with shame and heartache as the sound of the water running indicated she was taking a shower. He sat there even when the water stopped. Finally, he stood with the bottle and the glasses and took them into her kitchen.

He had replaced the bottles and loaded her dishwasher with the used glasses when she walked in, hair still wet. She had changed into chocolate-colored slacks and a teal shirt. Solemnly she offered her shower for use, and with few words he accepted the offer. After a brief visit to his car for fresh clothes, he took a brief shower.

She methodically went through the steps of making coffee, noting that her partner had cleaned up her mess while she had been upstairs. While in the shower, she had mulled over her words, just as she was sure he was doing right now. She could say that her outburst had occurred because she cared for her partner's well-being, and while that was definitely on the forefront, she found herself troubled by a tiny nagging voice telling her that it was more.

The bagels she had popped into the toaster emerged the moment he walked back into the kitchen. She avoided looking at him for a minute as she removed a mug and small plate for herself and him from the cupboard. He hovered on the side of the island closest to the door, deciding to give her the space she wanted. Balancing coffee and bagels she came closer. She placed the small plate in front of him and went to the refrigerator to grab a couple of things.

The moment she put her hand on her creamer, he remarked, "You were right."

She froze for a beat before grasping the bottle and the cream cheese before closing the door. She came over to her coffee and bagel with a pensive silence. She spread cream cheese over her bagel with all the deliberateness she could muster. _Coward,_ she chided herself. _Well damn it all._ She finally peered at him, taking in his wet hair and burgeoning scruff. He felt her eyes on him and shifted his attention away from his coffee, staring over the tendrils of steam.

"My intent was not to be right, but to just tell you how I felt," she finally responded. She looked away and lifted her mug to her lips. "As much as it thrills me to hear you say those very words. _You were right._ I ought to have them laminated or put on a plaque."

He managed a small smile. "Yes, because it may not happen again." She slid him a look of mock outrage but did not press. She could tell that he had more to say and he deserved the opportunity. "I realize how much it seemed that I...was attached to...Elizabeth, and it will take some time for me to sever those ties in many ways. But you need to be assured that I will not allow that to jeopardize anyone's safety, yours most of all." She did stare at him then. "Despite our differences, you have demonstrated to me that you are a worthy partner and officer. When you said...what you said, you were speaking from a place of genuine concern, and you are not one to worry unnecessarily."

He sucked in a breath and revealed, "So, to that end, I deleted the message without reading it. While I was upstairs."

She blinked at him, taken aback. She looked into her coffee as she decided how to address this. He had taken a big step toward getting over Elizabeth, and while he was only human and would most likely try to retrieve the message at some point, the immediate action could not go unheeded.

"Cheers to you, _mon ami_ ," she remarked with a curve of her lips, holding up her coffee mug. He raised his and they clicked the ceramic together in silent agreement.


	11. JN B-Day Plans: Hers

**Author's Notes:** _All right, folks, if you are not tall enough for this ride, come back in a couple of chapters. There will be a companion piece posted after this and it's not for kids._

 _So the way these came about...I was playing with this tweet generator when I came up with the hashtag_ **#JNbdayplans** _(thanks Nicollette; is anyone shocked, really?). I am still trying to decide if I want to post them somewhere...I saved them, I admit much to my chagrin. So if you're wondering why the chapter names in Alternate are hashtags, it's because of that encounter I had with the generator that I obviously had too much fun with. I am so easily amused._

 _I am not good at writing love scenes very well so be warned this might be complete rubbish. But I am trying it mostly because this was an opportunity too good to pass up. And it has been rolling around in my head for a long while._

 _ ***Don't doubt...:** From Hamlet, Act II, Scene II._

* * *

 **#JNbdayplans #hers** _contains the story of how the Commodore and the Captain celebrate Jess's first birthday during their marriage. Takes place after "Twins" and before "Dutchman."_

* * *

 **WARNING:** _Mature situations! (Worthy of the "M" rating? Hmm...I suppose.)_

* * *

 _._

 _._

.

 _I found out what I've been missing_  
 _Always on the run_  
 _I've been looking for someone_

 _Now you're here like you've been before_  
 _And you know just what I need_  
 _It took some time for me to see_  
 _That you give good love to me baby_  
 _So good, take this heart mine into your hands_  
 _You give good love to me_  
 _Never too much_  
 _Baby you give good love_

 _ **\- Whitney Houston, "You Give Good Love"**_

 _._

 _._

 _._

* * *

 _The Commodore's Wife: Alternate_

 **#JNbdayplans #h** **ers**

He had fretted over the day for weeks. She had insisted that she cared very little, especially with the Christmas celebrations going strong in Port Royal, but he wanted to make sure that the day was special.

Conditions between him and his wife had improved slightly, but certain areas of their relationship were lacking. To put it bluntly, they had not been intimate since before her sister's death. At first it mattered very little; short assignments kept him occupied for the most part, and her involvement with Gaia House and more specifically the healing Helen King took most of her focus. They did nothing in bed together except for sleep, with the occasional cuddle, and for a while that worked.

Until Kaneshi made a _certain sort_ of comment during breakfast one morning.

Luckily Abigail and Jessica were already gone, and Suzume was visiting her burgeoning garden outside. Jasper was taking care of the breakfast dishes, so it was Kaneshi and James in the dining room alone.

Thus leaving no one to deflect what Kaneshi said once Jasper left the room.

Kaneshi, near his own birthday (but he wasn't about to divulge that), wiped his mouth and addressed his brother-in-law of sorts. "So…planning to end the drought on her special day, I hope?"

James promptly choked on toast. Kaneshi sipped tea blithely and watched him expel bits of bread with avid brown eyes.

"I b-beg your pardon," James managed. **_Blink. Sip._** "That's rather…private don't you think?"

Kaneshi shook his head and placed his cup aside. "As much as it galls me to imagine you with Mako-chan doing _that_ "—he punctuated this with a delicate shudder—"I can tell it's starting to take its toll on you both."

James lifted his own tea and took a gulp. "I have no idea what you mean."

Kaneshi raised an eyebrow and gave him a bland stare. When James still looked slightly awestruck, Kaneshi took a long pull from his tea before speaking. "Commodore, you are a man, and so am I. Even though you were living like a priest before marriage doesn't mean that this… _lack_ can be comfortable for you."

James cleared his throat and shifted in his chair, discomfited. He barely resisted adjusting his cravat. Kaneshi lifted his tea to conceal his smile. James Norrington was a stand-up gentleman…but that didn't make it any less fun to mess with him.

"Kaneshi, you can grasp how uncomfortable this conversation is for me," James said, "so perhaps we should end it here."

But Kaneshi was too much like his sister (of sorts), so he kept pushing. "You have absolutely nothing planned do you?"

James pressed his lips together and exhaled through his nose. "I had procured two gifts for the holiday—"

"Two gifts?" Kaneshi repeated incredulously. " _Two_ gifts? Just _two_?"

"One of them is rather large, Kaneshi."

Kaneshi gave him a dubious look. "I don't believe you. I want to see it."

* * *

So what could he do? James showed it to him.

Kaneshi nodded in approval, rubbing his bearded chin. "All right, Commodore, it seems I misjudged you."

James didn't suppress the eye roll.

"This will please Mako-chan very much."

He softened a bit then, Kaneshi noted. "I was hoping it would."

 _Pause._

"But you know what else?"

James grimaced. "Dare I ask?"

He was right to be suspicious. Because then Kaneshi observed, "This would be a _great_ place for an intimate encounter."

James just pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head with a sigh.

* * *

That year, Governor Swann had asked Jessica to plan his annual Christmas preparations and the much-anticipated Christmas ball. Nora Hargrove, his usual go-to for organizing large gatherings, had passed several months before. Knowing that there was a vacancy, many of Port Royal's elite hoped for the chance to be called upon by Governor Swann.

Much to their dismay, Elizabeth suggested the Commodore's wife…and Governor Swann thought it would be a splendid idea. Many women in Port Royal thought he was insane.

Needless to say, Jessica was a _**bit** _ tense about things.

It was December 13th, one week before Jessica's birthday, and James stood in the middle of Governor Swann's ballroom. He was afraid to move. If he moved, he might incite his wife's wrath. He was wary of losing his head and forgot what his purpose actually had been in coming.

With little warning, his two sisters-in-law, his niece and their cousins surrounded him. They looked more weary than he did. He could only imagine having to endure _this_. He had only been there for five minutes and already he was beginning to see what Kaneshi was talking about. _I can tell it's starting to take its toll on you both._ He would admit to some increased irritability and terseness on his part, but _this_?

"She's bloody possessed," Claudia said, breaking him from his reverie.

"I thought I had seen her at her worst, but apparently I was wrong," Samantha added.

"I haven't seen her like this since Jack Sparrow swiped one of her pistols," Gretchen remarked.

Samantha winced. "Yeah, that was a damn nightmare. I'm surprised she didn't remove his testicles 'cause she sure threatened it convincingly enough."

Cynthia made a face, then looked at the Commodore. "So what've you got planned for her birthday?"

 _Pause._ They all stared at him. His eyes darted back and forth among the women on either side of him.

He cleared his throat before speaking. "Well," he started, "I had considered..."

The women shared a glance when he had finished revealing his idea.

"To be frank, that needs some work, James," Claudia told him gently.

" _Some_ work? That's bloody awful," Samantha said bluntly.

Cynthia gave her older sister a reproachful look and a none-too-subtle nudge. "Sam! For goodness sake!" Samantha shrugged, finding nothing wrong in what she said.

"We are more than happy to help, Commodore," Gretchen offered. She pursed her lips together as Jessica yelled about tinsel on the other side of the room. She gave it three minutes before Jessica commented on their idleness.

"Yeah if it gets Cousin Jess in better spirits, everyone would be happy to pitch in," Cynthia added.

"Because it's quite obvious what's wrong with her," Samantha muttered.

Cynthia, Gretchen, and Claudia glared at her in unison. _"Sam!"_ they exclaimed. Again, Samantha was unperturbed.

James sighed then. "No, there is a valid concern there," he informed them. "As much as I hate to admit it." He looked at the women in his midst. "So I would welcome your assistance."

The women, perhaps compelled by the fear of Jessica's wrath, quickly came up with a game plan. The only thing they could not figure out in such a short time was how to get Jessica away from the ballroom for the evening.

"I know how we can get her away," Abigail piped up, her first words the whole exchange. She gave James a determined nod at his surprised expression. "Leave it to me, Uncle James." With that, the little group disbanded as quickly as they had gathered.

Feeling marginally better about things, James slipped away before he was noticed.

* * *

On the afternoon in question, Jessica was extremely frazzled. Anytime anyone made any mention of the date, she waved them off. By midday, if anyone slipped and said _happy_ they quickly followed it with _Christmas_. Soon after no one uttered the word _happy_ at all. It was like a curse.

"My word, she has certainly gotten herself worked up over this," Governor Swann noted.

Elizabeth sighed and thought it was about time he noticed. "Well she wants to make a great impression, Father. Who could hardly blame her?"

"It _is_ her birthday," Will pointed out tactfully. "I am sure that is causing her some stress with attention being displaced in her opinion."

Governor Swann stopped in his tracks and his eyes went wide. "Today's the Captain's birthday?" Elizabeth held her tongue; she'd told him two weeks ago. Will answered the Governor. The older man frowned. "This will not do at all. We have to do something." _Pause._ " _Are_ we doing something?"

Will and Elizabeth shared a glance. "Sort of," they confirmed in unison.

* * *

An hour later, Governor Swann approached Jessica as she was fixing a tiny imperfection in one of the tiny figurines in a place setting. She looked up and he could tell for a split second that she would have launched a diatribe if it had been anyone but him. She schooled her features to more amicable lines as she straightened.

"Good afternoon, Governor Swann," she greeted him. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

Governor Swann took a look around his ballroom, pleased at what he saw. He silently thanked his daughter for her foresight but kicked himself for not noticing this sooner. "Everything looks splendid, Captain." He settled a concerned look upon her. "There is one thing you can do for me." She raised her eyebrows expectantly. "Take a break."

Jessica's brow furrowed. He recognized the look. He saw it on his daughter's face when she didn't agree with him. "Respectfully Governor, I still have—"

Governor Swann waved off her rebuttal before she could continue. "Oh nonsense. We'll just assign whatever's left to someone, and that will be that." He gallantly pulled out a chair and gestured to it. "After all, you _did_ ask if there was something you could do for me."

She couldn't escape that logic without potentially damaging her relationship with the Governor, so she came forward reluctantly and lowered herself to the chair. She squelched the tiny voice that noted how good it felt to sit.

"Oh good," said a voice. "You got her to sit." Jessica looked up abruptly and found Suzume coming toward her in a green _yukata_. Behind her Abigail rolled a cart with a teapot and cups. "I just made some tea."

"You didn't have to—"

Suzume silenced her by placing the teacup and saucer in front of her. "Take a moment and enjoy it, Mako-chan," Suzume said firmly. Jessica pressed her lips together as Suzume poured liquid into the cup. "You deserve it."

"And once you've finished, you are officially dismissed for the day," the Governor said. She opened her mouth to protest, but he raised a hand. "Indulge me, Captain. I would like to see you rested for tomorrow when the celebrations begin."

Seeing that she could find no way out of that, Jessica picked up the tea and sipped. Suzume, Governor Swann, and Abigail (and those who observed from various safe distances) watched with bated breath as she took the first sip. And frowned.

"This tastes a bit strange," Jessica noted.

 _Uh oh._ "It's more of a soothing blend," Suzume answered smoothly. Technically, not exactly a lie. Behind her, Abigail sucked in a breath. But Jessica ignored the taste and kept drinking. In an attempt to deflect, Suzume sat next to her with excitement on her features. "I can't wait to see what you've got planned! This looks beautiful."

In the middle of that statement, Jessica's eyes fluttered and her fingers loosened. Confusion flitted across her features as she fought against unconsciousness. But the herbs were too potent.

Her eyes rolled back in her head...

...and she fell out of the chair and soundly to the floor.

Luckily Suzume caught the cup before it crashed to the ground, but she gaped all the while. The Governor had a hand over his heart.

The thud brought everyone over to see what had happened. Samantha made a face while Cynthia put a hand over her gaping mouth. Gretchen bit her lip and shared a look with a grimacing Claudia. Elizabeth put her hands to her cheeks and looked at Will, who shrugged because he had no explanation. The Navy men and Kaneshi joined the group last; Groves looked to Gillette as if to say, _Was this supposed to happen?_ James worriedly went to his wife and knelt next to her to make sure she was breathing.

"Um...Abby-chan...how much did you put in the tea?" Suzume wanted to know.

Kaneshi shook his head when the girl distinctly looked uncomfortable. "She probably gave her extra. You know how stubborn Mako-chan is."

James patted his wife's cheek a couple of times and she didn't even stir. Usually if he did anything like that she would've grabbed his hand on the second pat. She was out cold. "It seems to have worked." He gave his niece a stern look. " _Too_ well."

Abigail winced sheepishly and glanced down at her prone aunt. "Oops."

* * *

She floated up toward consciousness like a piece of driftwood toward the surface of the sea. She could tell from the feel and scent of the breeze playing upon her cheek that she was outside and on water. She frowned, as that made little sense with her last memory. _How did I get here?_ she thought. _And more importantly, where am I?_

She opened her eyes and was greeted by the sight of the starry December sky. The fluid rocking of the hard surface beneath her informed her that she was on a vessel of some kind. Something soft and golden flickered out of the corner of her eye and she found herself staring at a group of candles. The breeze came again and fluttered the flames. She also heard the distinct flapping of sails.

She clamored upward and something fell from her shoulders and into her lap. When her head swam with the sudden movement, she pressed a hand to it. She grimaced and emitted a low groan. Her eyes closed as her head throbbed faintly. _Drugged,_ she realized grimly.

"Ah, you're awake." She lifted her eyes. Her husband came from the railing where he had been staring at the sea and knelt next to her. "How do you feel?"

"Like I've been drugged." She couldn't keep the reproach from her tone and he looked chastised. She felt a wave of guilt—he really _had_ looked worried—and exhaled. "Drastic measures, I gather?"

"You made it difficult to ensure your cooperation any other way, Mrs. Norrington," he responded. It was her turn to look chastised. "Perhaps you are more agreeable now?"

"I suppose there is little reason not to be..." She trailed off as she spotted something carved into the wood on the main mast. Her face fell into a mask of shock, and she stumbled to her feet. With halting steps, she walked toward the mast and reached out with a trembling hand to trace the carved letters with her fingertips.

 _¡Viva la Capitán!_

In a quiet voice, she asked, "James...what is the name of this vessel?"

He stood. He remained in place, knowing she needed nothing less at that moment than his touch. She would come to him when she was ready. "I believe you know the answer to that, Captain."

She traced the short declaration again, memories flooding her slightly muddled brain. "It's the _Thorn_ ," she whispered in awe. He nodded silently and tears sprang into her eyes. She flurried around for a couple of minutes, checking out hidey holes and various other identifying marks. Overcome with emotion, she stopped at the helm and turned back to him. "James. You got me my _Thorn_." The first tears fell onto her cheeks as she crossed the deck to bury her head in his chest. "Oh James."

As she cried tears of joy, he lowered her lips to the top of her head and brought her closer. "I hope...you are not too angry—"

She sniffed and peered up at him. "Angry? Angry? I'm the one who should be saying those words. I've been acting like a complete bitch lately."

"Oh, I didn't notice a change," he countered. Instead of shooting back as she normally would, her tears began anew. _Damn it,_ he thought. "Jess, I was just—"

"No, no." She shook her head vigorously and wiped her eyes. "Don't apologize. _I_ should be the one apologizing. You..." She sucked in a breath. "I'm sorry. You...have been nothing but the exemplary gentleman you always are, even in the face of..." She threw her free hand in the air. "Me."

He, much to her surprise, clasped that free hand and led her back to the blanket. "I don't plan to give up on you yet, Captain."

* * *

They talked. Tiny things, large things—nothing was off limits. She realized that she had missed talking to him, hearing his voice, and vowed silently to never again let communication lapse between them so drastically.

They laid on the blanket staring up at the stars after they had finished their meal. The dinner prepared by Suzume and Martha Grady had restored some of her faculties. and she felt a bit sharper. A short, comfortable silence had fallen between them. the back of her head rested on his left shoulder and his left hand rested just under her breasts, covered by her left hand. Suddenly James muttered a short exclamation and began to rise. She shifted away and frowned as he climbed to his feet.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I nearly forgot something," he responded. He disappeared for a moment and reappeared with a long lacquered box. Jessica's brow furrowed as he lowered himself to the blanket and placed it in her lap. "Your second gift," he clarified. She looked at it bemusedly and then up at him. He reached down and undid the latch. "Allow me."

She didn't protest. He lifted the lid and her olive-colored eyes went huge. She gasped in delight and she gazed at him excitedly. "Oh James you shouldn't have!" She reached in and pulled the item from the velvet confines of the box. "You got me a sword."

She unsheathed it like a buoyant child and he placed the box aside so he could scoot closer. "I figured if you had your own, you wouldn't keep stealing mine."

"Very apt, Commodore," she said wryly. "Oh look! It's engraved." She read the inscription aloud. _"Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love."*_ Tears shimmered in her eyes again. "Thank you, darling. This is perfect." She leaned in and kissed him, shooting warmth through them both. She broke away before the contact deepened. "I have to take it for a spin. Care to duel?"

* * *

They dueled a few times, both enjoying the exertion and the good-natured ribbing. It made things feel more normal between them. During their fifth round, James advanced so expertly that he knocked Jessica's sword from her hand. It went clattering to the wood and she darted toward it. Unfortunately for her, he was faster.

He extended his sword-bearing arm and placed his sword in her path. She stopped abruptly, her chest bumping the metal. She slanted him a look. He merely smirked.

"So it seems I have been proven to be the superior swordsman," he said.

Something shifted in that instant. All evening she had merely enjoyed his companionship, basked in the familiarity of his presence. However, as he looked at her with a cool arrogance and a light sheen of sweat on his skin, and as adrenaline raced through her blood, she felt desire tugging from below. It ran through her veins, pooling in her belly, her head. She turned toward him and witnessed the moment he noticed the change in her. His arm began to fall, little by little, and for a split second he seemed unnerved.

"You deserve a reward for your skills, Commodore Norrington." Her voice came out slightly lower than before.

"What did you"—his voice cracked as she pressed herself against him—"have in mind?"

 _It's been too long,_ she mused as she tilted her head upward and placed her palm flat on his chest. _It's been too long since I've touched him_ — _really touched him. And since he's touched me._ The intense green of his eyes mesmerized her as his arousal became distinctly obvious. _Let's make up for lost time, **mi amor.**_ She murmured against his lips, "You are getting so much sex tonight, Commodore Norrington."

Sensing that she had shocked him, and she would have to make the first move, she fisted his waistcoat in her grasp to keep him from escaping and nipped at his lower lip with her teeth. His breath caught and she grinned. His audible gulp was icing on the cake. She broke away long enough to gather a candle and her new sword. She heard his sword clatter to the wood before she ventured below deck.

As memory guided her, she struck a match to give her more light as she drifted into the captain's quarters. The bed had been smaller when the vessel had previously been in her possession but she approved the change.

She sensed him enter the room and she bit her lip to keep herself on task. She didn't acknowledge his presence immediately; instead, she deftly moved around the room to light all the candles. After a few minutes, when the room was bathed in a soft, golden glow, and all the candles were aflame, she turned to him. She held his gaze as she puckered her lips and blew out the match.

"How long do we have?" she asked.

He took a couple of steps in her direction but did not completely close the gap between them. "All the time you want." As her mouth tilted up impishly on one side, he amended, "As in tonight."

The other side of her mouth turned up. "I intend to make use of every moment, Commodore." She discarded the match and tugged on the strings holding her dress together. Her voice, when she spoke, came out in a near whisper. "Take off your clothes."

It was her night, so he obeyed.

When he was clad in only his breeches and socks, she strode forward and placed a hand on his chest. With the other hand she took down her hair as she guided him toward the bed. One push and he tumbled backward, holding himself up on his elbows. She held his gaze as she divested herself of the outer pieces of her gown. She slowly lowered herself to the floor, her every movement imbued with sensuality. Still an arm's length away from his feet, she reached out for the sock on his right foot and tugged on its tip until it slid free. She repeated the action on his left foot, and the fabric joined its mate discarded nearby.

She nudged his knees farther apart and crept between his legs. Her movements were feline in their bent, the arch of her back reminding him of a tigress preparing to pounce. He concentrated on forcing his breath in and out of his lungs as she smirked at him, the gleam in her eyes giving him a dark, primal thrill.

"James?" His name crossed her lips and showcased her amorous intent, but the fall of her stare toward his bare chest exuded innocence. "I know it has been quite some time since we…"

He shifted onto his right elbow so he could reach up to touch her with his left hand. At first he had intended his touch to be bolstering, but as his fingertips brushed her lips and trailed downward before they skimmed her right breast, her gaze heated a touch. _You're going to pay for that, Commodore._

He met that searing look with one of his own. "Do your worst."

She leaned in until he could count the light freckles on her nose. "I hope you realize, that if I take you up on your challenge, you will get no sleep tonight. You will not be able to focus tomorrow because your mind will stray…" She neared and brushed the edge of his mouth with hers. "…to the memory of my hands"—she trailed kisses along his jawline—"my lips, my tongue, my teeth"—she nipped at his earlobe and he barely fought the shudder—"on your skin. You will most likely lose every vestige of rational thought when I push you up and over the edge over…" Her hand slid between them and below the waist. "…and over…" She raked her nails gently over the over the fabric at the juncture of his thighs. The tantalizing pressure, after so long without proper engagement, made his eyelids flutter. He trembled openly then. "…and over again."

He forced himself to keep his voice steady as he spoke. She had left his ear and headed south. "Very high-handed talk, Captain. As usual, you inflate your words when you should just—" As her teeth closed lightly over his right nipple he fought a curse as pleasure lanced through him and intensified the throbbing. "—let your actions speak for themselves."

She looked up at him briefly. "Oh? You mean…" Her head dipped again as her tongue trailed a hot path down his torso. With her hands, she undid the front of his breeches and succeeded in freeing him enough to prove her point. "Like this?" And with that, she gave his shaft a leisurely lick, staring at him boldly all the while. His rough groan was answer enough for her.

He was able to speak again—barely—after a few moments. "I am made to think you intend to kill me tonight." She took the tip of him into her warm, inviting mouth and gave it a gentle suck. The negative pressure had his eyes rolling into the back of his head. "You are a diabolical woman," he managed, and she grinned up at him with his hardening erection in her nimble hand.

"I'm _your_ diabolical woman, lest you forget," she reminded him. "And it's my night. I get to be as evil as I please."

"What if I decide to retaliate?"

She raised an eyebrow and released his aching appendage. He watched wordlessly as she climbed on top of him and freed herself from the bodice and sleeves of her shift. The sight of her partially bare made his heart beat quicken, and underneath the skirt of her shift her sodden core brushed against his hardness. She rubbed herself against him, teasing him, increasing his want. Gone was any vestige of control.

Finally she responded, "You'll be too tired for that."

She braced herself on his shoulder as she guided him inside her deftly. Filled with the entirety of him she threw back her head and let out a soft sound of pleasure and exultation. She lowered her head and with her eyes laden with desire she guided his hands to her aching breasts. _Touch me._ Her ragged command left no room for dissent. Their weeks-long respite from one another was broken as she shifted her hips with a carnal precision that made him a different man entirely.

He was right where she wanted him. They both knew it. Neither would have it any other way.

* * *

Later, as they recovered, she sighed gustily against the mussed blanket that neither bothered to hide under. And then, much to his surprise, laughed.

Raising an eyebrow—as it was the only part of him that wasn't utterly spent—he remarked dryly, "Dare I ask what is so humorous? Or are you going to attack me if I do?"

"And what would our relationship be if I didn't attack you every now and again?"

"An infernal chase," he quipped.

"You wouldn't have caught me if I hadn't let you."

He slanted her a look, managing arrogance even though she had ridden him to near-exhaustion. He had lost some of his endurance. "Oh Captain, let's be clear, you are a worthy adversary but I caught you on my own merit."

She said nothing for a while. Silently she rose from the bed, discarding her wrinkled and sweat-laden shift and replacing it with his shirt as she strode across the room. He shifted onto his elbow and watched as she took the sword he'd had made for her from the box. She removed it from its sheath and examined it. A small smile played upon her features.

She rose to her feet and did a couple of testing jabs in the air with the sword. She lowered the blade-bearing hand and sheathed the sword. "Some women in the world want baubles. Gaudy things. The more sparkle and shine the better. Or silk. Yards and yards of cloth enough to drown them and those around them." She placed the sword aside and drifted back to the bed. He watched her carefully, wondering where she was going with her statement. She straddled him again and he lifted himself to a sitting position so that they were facing each other. She gazed at him awhile without a word.

Finally she remarked softly, "But the man worthy of understands I am not that sort of woman. Only the man worthy of me would get me a sword knowing there is no better gift that he could bestow." She raised a hand to his face and affection crossed his features. "I love you, James Lawrence." She leaned in and murmured against his lips, "Thank you for letting me let you catch me."

She grinned when he rolled his eyes. "For the record, _Jesica Catalina_ …I caught you. Fair and square."

She pressed herself to him and he felt arousal stirring within. "Let's see what your opinion is at the end of the night." He attempted to refute, but his mouth was too occupied meeting hers.

* * *

The second time, she paced herself. She paid special attention to the elegant line of his nose, the curve of his flushed ear. She discovered that he was more aroused by subtle touches. She feathered kisses under his belly button and felt him shift under her lips. He sighed in pleasure, closing his eyes, and she smiled, continuing downward.

By the time she crawled back upward, his pulse was racing and his breath was slightly labored. Their mouths touched softly and she guided him into her. He gripped her hips to slow her down through his shirt she still wore. She shuddered out a breath when he surprised her by moving in tandem with her. The rhythmic friction and collision of their bodies was erotic, and her astonishment intensified the sensation.

 _Yes, darling. Yes._ Propelled by her words, he used his grip to switch their positions. Her back hit the mattress and she stared at him wide-eyed as he began a slow grind that had her toes tingling. She breathed a string of curses in Spanish and he smirked. _James, where—?_

 _Had plenty of time to consider it._ He gave her one hard thrust to shut her up and quickened his pace. She didn't have much time to ponder upon the sudden change in her husband, his sudden show of dominance; her capacity to reason was paused on a dime by a wave of pleasure so intense it stole her breath.

* * *

They lay, still tangled, foreheads touching, when they heard the thud from above their heads.

The reaction was instantaneous. She climbed from under him and her feet hit the floor as quietly as she could manage. She pulled his shirt over her head and tossed it over her shoulder. After dressing herself in her shift, she picked up her sword and his. She launched his at him and he caught it deftly. More thuds came-the sound of footfalls. Voices echoed off the water and she turned back to him. He strode forward but she shook her head and went forward anyway.

She emerged from below and assessed the situation quickly. Ten men, all armed. She spied the leader poking around the helm and glowered. _Not running off with my Thorn, you're not._ Adrenaline fizzing in her veins, she leapt forward and cut down the first man she saw. That inspired the rest to act, and despite the obvious disadvantage, she held her own.

Until the leader, a muscular black man with a dashing appearance, crossed the deck with his sword drawn. She parried against him, but ended up on her ass, sword point in her face.

She groaned inwardly, wondering what sort of bad luck she had to be cut down on her own birthday. _Bloody hell,_ she thought. "I've gotten fucking soft," she muttered.

At the sound of her voice, the dark-skinned pirate peered at her in disbelief. He lowered the sword. "Cap'n?"

Jessica's mouth dropped open and she tilted her head in confusion as she realized that he looked very familiar to her. "Daji?"

Daji had been one of her former crewmen aboard the _Diamond_. Loyal to her late grandfather and wary of that ballsy teen who wanted to live up to the persona of a merciless leader, Daji had presented a challenge to her early days as Captain. It took several years, and a couple of near brawls, but by the time Jessica had gone into retirement in London with her cousin, the muscular man had sworn loyalty to her, no matter where their paths crossed.

And here they were, reunited.

The telltale _crack-crack_ of a pair of muskets broke her from her reverie. She stared at Daji, silently willing him to stand down. She knew who had entered the scene.

Jessica turned and raised a reproachful eyebrow at him over Daji's shoulder. "Darling."

James stared at her unrepentantly. Meanwhile, Daji raised an eyebrow and helped Jessica to her feet, not daunted at all by the fact he had nearly just gotten shot. "Protective one you got there, Cap'n."

"Put the gun down, darling," she told her husband firmly. With a great deal of reluctance, James lowered the pistols. She looked to the pirates, several of whom were bleeding a bit. "He's a bit edgy," Jessica told them apologetically. "After all..." She lowered her voice to a stage whisper and leaned closer to Daji. "We were sort of...having a romantic evening." She shrugged, embarrassed. "It's kinda my birthday."

"Didja hear that, ya lice-covered frogs? It's the Cap'n's birthday!" Daji's exclamation prompted cheering among the pirates, and James raised his eyes to the sky in exasperation. "How 'bout we have a drink for old time's sake? Whaddya say, Cap'n? Still can drink you under the table, I bet."

Jessica brightened. "That would be—" James cleared his throat pointedly and Jessica fixed her face to more sedate lines. "Some other time, Daji. Making up for lost time here, if you know what I mean."

Daji cackled. "Well, I'll leave ya to it." He hugged the smiling Captain. "See ya around." He clapped the mortified Commodore on the back. "Make sure she's limping tomorrow, eh? Give 'er the good so it's hard to walk."

Jessica had to press her lips together to keep from laughing at her husband's expression. She waved at them in goodbye as they disembarked and reboarded their own vessel. They sailed away, yelling, _¡Viva la Capitán!_ She raised her fist in response, eyes over-bright.

When they were out of sight, James exhaled. "Listen, darling—"

She whirled toward him, eyes dancing with pleasure. "This was the best birthday _ever_!" she exclaimed.

He blinked. "Really?" He stepped away and looked at her. "You had to be drugged to get here because you were ready to bite everyone's heads off and we were just attacked by pirates."

"I know, right?" He gazed at her, aghast at her excited tone. She placed a finger on his lips before he could speak. "But it all worked out in the end, didn't it? Not to mention, the best part..." She replaced her finger with her lips. She deepened the kiss until they were both breathless and his hands were in a couple of interesting places. _Hmm...it looks like I'm not the only one making up for lost time._

"James?"

"Mmm...yes?"

"I think the deck needs to be blessed."

"The deck needs to be...?" His eyes went huge when he realized what exactly she meant. "Just a moment darling we can't—" She merely smirked and pulled him downward, proving to him that indeed they _could_. And more than once.

* * *

Four days later, at the extravagant Christmas ball, Gillette with Cynthia and Groves approached Samantha, Gretchen, Claudia, Elizabeth and Will. Across the room, James was having a conversation with an older gentleman in very fine clothes. Even though he was doing nothing more than conversing with an elder, the group observed speculative glances in the Commodore's direction every now and again. The change in the Commodore's wife had been so palpable that it was the topic of many a conversation. James too had seemed different, but for him the shift was subtle. If anything he seemed more...relaxed.

"What do you think happened?" Gretchen asked in a hushed tone.

"The Captain has been unusually secretive about their time on the _Thorn_ ," Samantha supplied the newcomers.

"Unusually secretive?" Claudia repeated. "She avoids the topic like it never happened! It's worse than when he proposed."

Cynthia pouted. "She still won't tell us about that one."

Gillette raised an eyebrow. "That's a bit surprising. I'd figured she would be all over talking about that. Boasting, I mean."

Elizabeth shook her head. "Believe it or not, Lieutenant, the Captain hoards details when it comes to the Commodore. She can tell you how many cups of butter went into that cake over there, but when if you ask her about James she is completely mum."

Cynthia gave her cousin's husband an appraising glance. "It makes you wonder, you know?"

Samantha cocked an eyebrow. "What? If he's stuffy like that all the time? I hope he's not like that in bed."

Will choked on his wine and Elizabeth thumped him on the back. Groves looked like he wanted to hide under a tablecloth.

Gillette paled a bit. "Let's not get into that subject. That's my commanding officer, I'll have you remember, and I would like to be able to look him in the eye for the rest of my life."

"Besides," Will added, "he's the Commodore. He's the definition of poise and decorum. Or at least that's the image I have of him in my head and I want to keep it that way."

Claudia suddenly gasped and grabbed for the person nearest, who happened to be Groves. She smiled at him apologetically to cover the blunder and gestured to something a few yards away. "Well, well. Look who has finally put in an appearance."

The group watched as the woman in question appeared. She paused briefly to receive accolades for the preparations and accept compliments on her burnt orange-hued gown (no one could really blame Cynthia for preening, it was a lovely creation), but her destination clearly was the man she had married. She skillfully lifted two glasses of champagne from a passing server after murmuring something to him that made him smile and nod purposefully. Her lips curved, she continued on her journey and only stopped this time to pause at her husband's side. The older gentleman noticed her first and greeted her with a commendation of her planning skills. She deftly handed her husband the other glass and he accepted it without them looking at one another.

The din had quieted enough so that they heard Jessica's response. "Well, Mr. Lanningham, as you well know, many aspects of life can benefit from a tactical approach. It's a wonderful and useful lesson I learned…" She trailed off and her eyes slid in the direction of the Commodore.

"Here we go," Groves muttered.

"No way she gives him bedroom eyes in the middle of a damn room. No way at all," Gillette said.

"…from my husband," she finished. "He awes me continuously with his dexterity." The Commodore met her gaze and held it. The moment lasted for only a few seconds, but it was laden with meaning. They recognized that look she'd given him. Anyone over the age of puberty could.

It was the look of a woman who couldn't wait to undress the recipient with her teeth.

Much to their surprise, James returned the look with the expression of a man who would _definitely_ be more than happy to let her.

They gaped in unison as the duo clicked glasses and took a sip in tandem. Serenity played upon their features, but there was the barest undercurrent of something else. Something that would most likely give neither any chance to sleep that night.

"Well that answers _that_ question," Groves quipped.

Gillette fidgeted, thinking about how awkward it was going to be come Boxing Day. "Unfortunately," he groused.


End file.
